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EXTRACTS 



YOUNGS NIGHT THOUGHTS, 



OBSERVATIONS 



UPON THEM. 



By WILLIAM DANBY, Esq. 

OF SWINTON PARK, YORKSHIRE. 




LONDON: & 

PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR, 

AND SOLD BY J. G. & F. RIVINGTON, 

ST. PAUL'S CHURCH YARD, AND WATERLOO PLACE, PALL MALL 

and J. & G. TODD, YORK; & C. UPHAM, EXETER. 
1832. 



n< 



^ 



LONDON! 
GILBERT & RIVINGTON, PRINTERS, 
st. John's square. 



DEDICATION 



HIS GRACE THE ARCHBISHOP OF YORK. 



MY DEAR LORD, 

An acquaintance of many years' standing, with some 
degree of family connexion, has given me the knowledge 
of the many virtues which have raised your Grace to the 
eminent situation in which you have been long placed, and 
which has induced me to offer to your Grace the dedica- 
tion of these extracts from, and observations on, a work 
which so powerfully advocates the cause and the interests 
of a religion which is our best support in this world, and 
our highest object in the next. The Church, of which your 
Grace is a distinguished member, has been considered by 
many pious and learned men, and particularly by the illus- 
trious Grotius, as established on a foundation which secures 
its stability more than that of any other, whatever dissent 
from its doctrines the varying opinions and feelings of men 
may have produced ; those doctrines are as consonant to 
reason, as the human intelligence of the mysteries that 

a2 



IV DEDICATION. 

religion must contain in itself, could make them ; and they 
are no less calculated to secure that peace which, as our 
great Shepherd has told us, will " give rest unto our 
souls." 

That we all, and your Grace in particular, may enjoy 
that peace on earth, which is the foretaste of happiness in 
heaven, is the sincere wish of, 

My dear Lord, 
Your Grace's affectionate and obedient Servant, 

William Danby. 

Swinton Park, October 30, 1832. 



PREFACE. 



The great value of the " Night Thoughts," and the in- 
estimable value of the subject, certainly deserved a more 
able selector and commentator than I have proved myself 
to be. However, as no attempt of the kind, that I know 
of, has ever been made, I venture mine into the world, in 
hopes that it may induce more to read the poem itself, 
among those who most want its admonitions, or those who 
have been deterred from it by a mistaken, as to many 
parts of it at least, notion of its gloom and severity. If 
they dislike seriousness, even upon the most important 
subjects, their case is at least as desperate as Lorenzo's : 
they will, it is to be feared, have nothing but a " dreadful 
scene" before them, in the " unconsidered" One, in the 
" worlds unknown," into which they must at some time be 
"wafted." If they do not give their "consciences leave 
to speak" now, they will speak, " their leave unasked," 
when it is too late for them to be heard with any profit. 

It is singular that Young's Night Thoughts have more 
admirers (as I have been told) among our lighter neigh- 
bours on the continent, than amongst us more serious 
Islanders ; perhaps it is from the lively imagination dis- 
played in them, as well as from their animation. They 
are, however, much read among our countrymen, and a 
little further acquaintance with them (for which some dis- 



VI PREFACE. 

position to seriousness may be required), will no doubt 
increase the number. In this age of urbanity and tolera- 
tion, there is no fear of their having any but the best 
effects upon social intercourse, inculcative as they are of 
religious philanthropy. 

Madame de Stael criticises the " Night Thoughts" (in 
her ingenious " Corinne") for their want of taste. But 
what is taste compared with force of description ? Do we 
accuse the Scriptures of want of taste, in their mention of 
" the sow wallowing in the mire," or " the dog returning 
to the vomit?" And what can be more forcible, or more 
appropriate, than these similes ? 

Perhaps I may have been too fond of interlarding my 
works with scraps of Latin, &c. ; but this I have done from 
an idea that they would make a greater impression upon 
those who understand those languages, who might commu- 
nicate that impression to others whom they may translate 
the quotations to. The best reason for introducing those 
quotations, is from their greater conciseness and energy. 
This is not pedantry. A further apology may be in the 
recollections of early education, of the acquirements then 
made, and the association of ideas which the passages 
quoted, themselves furnish. But to justify the quota- 
tions, a good deal must depend upon the character of the 
language. 



CONTENTS 



Page 

NIGHT THE FIRST 1 

NIGHT THE SECOND 9 

NIGHT THE THIRD 15 

NIGHT THE FOURTH 20 

NIGHT THE FIFTH 33 

NIGHT THE SIXTH ........... 49 

NIGHT THE SEVENTH 71 

NIGHT THE EIGHTH 85 

NIGHT THE NINTH 98 



EXTRACTS 

FROM 

YOUNG'S NIGHT THOUGHTS, 

WITH 

OBSERVATIONS UPON THEM. 



NIGHT THE FIRST. 

This noble poem, though poetical throughout, does not, as 
might be expected, begin with all the promise which is more 
than fulfilled afterwards, when the poet displays all the rich- 
ness and force of his imagination and feelings, as his ex- 
pression rises with his subject. He begins, awakened only to. 
the consideration of himself, as, 

" Emerging from a sea of dreams, 
Tumultuous," &c. 

dreams of his natural sleep, which he confounds with those of 
the " grave," of the sleepers in which he says, 



How happy they, who wake no more 



I" 



How is this consistent with the main object of his poem, to 
give proofs, in addition to and accordance with the assurances 
of the Gospel, of our awakening in another life to an endless 
enjoyment, or sufferance, of happiness or of misery ? Allowing, 
however, for this first effusion of his imagination and feelings, 
and giving all due applause to his beautiful description of 



% EXTRACTS FROM 

night and its accompanying scenery, we may pass on to his 
fervent address, 

" O Thou, whose word from solid darkness struck 
That spark, the sun," 

A spark, perhaps, in comparison with other luminous bodies, 
among which it has been supposed that the principal star in 
the constellation Lyra is two thousand times as large as 
our sun. 

" Strike wisdom from my soul : 

My soul, which flies to thee, her trust, her treasure, 

As misers to their gold, while others rest." 

I think we cannot but observe, how subservient Young, 
something like Shakspeare, makes the sallies of his imagina- 
tion to what his subject requires. The specimens I have 
given, I think, must induce the reader to go on with these 
thoughts and aspirations, till he comes to the following general 
reflections : 

" How poor, how rich, how abject, how august, 

How complicate, how wonderful, is man ! 

How passing wonder He, who made him such ! 

Who center'd in his make such strange extremes !" 
***** 

" O what a miracle to man is man, 
Triumphantly distress'd ! what joy, what dread ! 
Alternately transported, and alarm'd ! 
What can preserve my life ? or what destroy ? 
An angel's arm can't snatch me from the grave, 

Legions of angels can't confine me there." 

***** 

" Even silent night proclaims my soul immortal ; 
Even silent night proclaims eternal day. 
For human weal, Heaven husbands all events ; 
Dull sleep instructs, nor sport vain dreams in vain." 

13 



YOUNGS NIGHT THOUGHTS. 6 

These, indeed, other animals, particularly dogs, seem to 
have in common with us ; but as that is true of many of their 
other faculties, it would put them upon a level with us (and 
still higher, in their fidelity), did not the use of our reason, 
abused as it often is, give us a decided pre-eminence. 

Dogs follow their instinct, as being destined to the service 
of man, who follows, sometimes his reason, sometimes his 
passions or his caprice. 

Considering, however, man as a rational creature, the 
poet says, 

" Why then their loss deplore, who are not lost ? 
Why wanders wretched thought their tombs around, 
In infidel distress ? Are angels there ? 
Slumbers, rak'd up in dust, ethereal fire ? 
They live ! they greatly live a life on earth 
Unkindled, unconceiv'd, and from an eye 
Of tenderness, let heavenly pity fall 
On us, more justly number'd with the dead." 

For further proof of this we must look to the succeeding 
" Nights," remembering that in this life, as has been truly 
said, " we are in the midst of death," liable as our passage 
through it is, to be shortened by a thousand accidents, which 
in the next we shall be out of the reach of. 

" And is it in the flight of threescore years 

To push eternity from human thought, 

And smother souls immortal in the dust?" &c. &c. 

Not entirely ; but sensible objects, when present, are too apt 
to obliterate the thoughts of those which futurity presents, 
and, indeed, it is partly intended that it should be so ; but 
this partial attachment generally lessens as we approach to the 
latter. 

b 2 



4* EXTRACTS FROM 

" O ye blest scenes of permanent delight! 
Full, above measure ! lasting, beyond bound ! 
A perpetuity of bliss, is bliss." &c. &c. 

This surely affords a satisfactory answer to Lord Byron's 
foolish idea, that " no state can be conceived that duration 
would not render tiresome." True, it cannot be conceived ; 
but does it follow, that it cannot exist ? Duration of what is 
unsatisfactory to us here, as all earthly enjoyments must be, 
may well be tiresome, and our powers are probably unequal 
to the enjoyment of what would be more satisfactory; but 
both may be given (as they are promised) in a future state, by 
Him to whom all things are possible, that He has made so ; 
and the general adaptation that we see evinced here, no doubt 
is fulfilled every where else. But, 

" We cannot reason, but from what we know ;" 

and what know we of a future state ? 

By the by, should not this sense of ignorance have made 
Mr. Hume a little more diffident, in his reasoning against the 
belief of the miracles of our Saviour, from the want of that 
probability which experience affords ? But is there no analogy 
that supplies (as Dr. Butler has endeavoured to show) its 
place ? and does not that, assisted by moral evidence, speak 
sufficiently, both to our reason and our feelings ? But their 
mutual dependence on each other keeps us in a suspense, 
which, as our spirits vacillate, may be elevated into hope, or 
depressed into fear. We may be " alternately transported 
and alarmed." But there is an " asylum" for the " soul," 
and Young has told us where to find it ; " in prayer." 

After enumerating the evils of life, and the sufferers under 
them, the poet says, 

" What then am I, who sorrow for myself? 
In age, in infancy, from others' aid 



YOUNGS NIGHT THOUGHTS. 5 

Is all our hope ; to teach us to be kind. 
That, nature's just, last lesson to mankind : 
The selfish heart deserves the pain it feels : 
More generous sorrow, while it sinks, exalts ; 
And conscious virtue mitigates the pang." 

Pope says, 

" The broadest mirth unfeeling folly wears, 
Less pleasing far than virtue's very tears." 

Especially when shed in sympathy with the affliction of others. 

Speaking of prosperity, Young says, 

" Is heaven tremendous in its frowns ? most sure ; 

And in its favours formidable too : 

Its favours here are trials, not rewards ; 

A call to duty, not discharge from care." 

A " call," which our consciences sometimes (O si saepius !) 
make us listen to ; and a " care," which, " atra comes" as it 
is, we cannot well avoid being "pressed" by. 

But besides this tax upon prosperity, the poet thinks it in- 
cumbent on him to say, 

" Beware what earth calls happiness ; beware 
All joys, but joys that never can expire. 
Who builds on less than an immortal base, 
Fond as he seems, condemns his joys to death." 

And die they must ; but so must we also. Let us live then 
while we can ; but let us live well ; and how well ? not as 
" des bons vivants," but as rational creatures. 

There are no lasting or real joys, but those which will bear 
reflection, and are somehow connected with our future pros- 
pects. If man is meant (as he certainly is) to look forward in 
this life, there must always be something for him to look for- 



H^ 



~i 






O EXTRACTS FROM 

ward to. N This he does both with the eye of reason and of 
faith. These joys, therefore, are immortal ; in leaning to that 
they " lean also to our kind," as well as to Him, who has com- 
manded us to love one another. 

Speaking of " foresight," and its uncertainty, he says, 

" Time is dealt out by particles ; and each, 
Ere mingled with the streaming sands of life, 
By fate's inviolable oath is swore 
Deep silence, where eternity begins." 
Pope says, 

" Heaven from all creatures hides the book of fate, 
All but the page prescrib'd, their present state ; 
From beasts what men, from men what angels know, 
Or who could suffer being here below ? 
The lamb thy riot dooms to bleed to-day, 
Had he thy reason, would he skip and play ? 
Pleas'd to the last, he crops the luscious food, 
And licks the hand that's rais'd to shed his blood." 

Such is the end of creatures which have no end but death 
to look forward to, and therefore want not a foresight that 
would keep them in perpetual terror. Man wants it to excite 
his hopes, as well as his fears. Happy for him, when both 
combine to produce the same effect ! 

Confining, however, our prospects to this transitory life, the 
poet says that, 

" As on a rock of adamant we build 
Our mountain hopes ; spin our eternal schemes, 
As we the fatal sisters would out-spin ; 
And, big with life's futurities, expire." 

We look forward to every thing else before we look forward 
\ to our own dissolution. And, indeed, if we did not, we should 



YOUNGS NIGHT THOUGHTS. 7 

skip over all the intermediate pages of life, which should be a 
preparation for its end, which they will be, if these pages are 
well prepared ere they are exhibited in action. I have heard \ 
it said, that in some respects we should live as if we were to i 
live for ever here; and in others, as if we were to die to- 
morrow. I think the first must mean in what regards those 
who are to come after us, in whom our life is, in a manner, 
continued; and the second, in what regards ourselves, who 
cannot reckon even upon the continuance of another day, and 
we pray, therefore, for " our daily bread in this," only. But 
as our existence is to be continued afterwards, we ought to pre- 
pare for the day which will have no end, and for the " bread 
of life" eternal; and in this respect our conduct too often 
proves that 

" Procrastination is the thief of time ; 
Year after year it steals, till all are fled H 
And to the mercies of a moment leaves 
The vast concerns of an eternal scene." 

We are told that " God will have mercy on whom he will 
have mercy ;" but he has not reserved this knowledge entirely 
to himself. He has told us on whom he will have mercy ; 
who " shall save his soul alive ;" what will be " required" of 
us ; but he has not encouraged our vain hopes, nor our self- 
flatteries. He has withheld from us part of the knowledge of 
ourselves, perhaps that our " secret faults" may keep us in 
awe, and that we may not " speak" a false " peace to our 
minds," in over-rating our virtues, or under-rating our faults ; 
we are sinners all, and must " work out our salvation with 
fear and trembling." 

But such are our habits, which, however, are often coun- 
teracted by reflection, for the mind will not give up its ac- 
tivity, and if it does not meditate good, it will meditate evil, 
or good-for-nothing trifles, though they may be comparatively 









O EXTRACTS FROM 

innocent. What is said ,in Night the second, will at least 
keep them so, 

" Guard well thy thoughts ; our thoughts are heard in 
heaven." 

And thought is often a prelude to actions-It certainly has an 
influence over our opinions, and, therefore, over our discourse. 
Both these we have some power over, and therefore responsi- 
bility for, the formation and utterance of. This responsibility 
will be best secured by self-examination. By this, 

" At thirty man suspects himself a fool ; 

Knows it at forty, and reforms his plan ; 

At fifty chides his infamous delay, 

Pushes his prudent purpose to resolve ; 

In all the magnanimity of thought 

Resolves, and re-resolves ; then dies the same." 

If this is accompanied with any degree of self-indulgence 
that is inconsistent with; our " plans of reformation/' we are 
proportionately responsible ; but if the purposed " resolution'' 
has the effect of securing to us the " vitium fugere," we may 
trust that it will be counted for something, if done with a 
good intent, which must be in a wish to please God. 

Young ends this " Night" with a lamentation on Pope, not 
for his death but for his omissions, which Young has, I be- 
lieve, much better supplied. Pope's description of religious 
feeling, that, 

" When lengthen/d. on to faith, and unconfln'd, 

It pours the bliss that fills up all the mind," (with what?) 

does not promise the close, strong, and persevering defence of 
it that Young has given : Pope's is the reasoning of a philo- 
sopher, Young's that of a Christian. 



YOUNG S NIGHT THOUGHTS. 



NIGHT THE SECOND. 

After returning to his lamentations, he quits them to exhort 
Lorenzo not to 

" Think it folly to be wise too soon," 



but to consider that, 

" When spirits ebb, when life's enchanting scenes 
Their lustre lose, and lessen in our sight, 
Then toys will not amuse, thrones will be toys, 
And earth and skies seem dust upon the scale." 

Which then may well " kick the beam." 

" Redeem we time ? — its loss we dearly buy. - ' 
What pleads Lorenzo for his high-priz'd sports? 
He pleads time's numerous blanks ; he loudly pleads 
The straw -like trifles on life's common stream. 
From whom those blanks and trifles, but from thee 1 
No blank, no trifle, nature made, or meant. 
Virtue, or purpos'd virtue, still be thine ; 
This cancels thy complaint at once, this leaves 
In act no trifle, and no blank in time." 

This is a further intimation of the necessity of the wish 
" to please God ;" without the hope (whether we are conscious 
of it or not) of doing that, " virtue" would not be " its own 
reward ;" the present satisfaction that it gives, must lead to 
the hope of more in future. What other incentive will there 
be ? and, as is said in the seventh Night, 

" Virtue's a combat ; and who fights for nought ? 
Or for precarious, or for small reward ? 
Who virtue's self-reward so loud resound, 



10 EXTRACTS FROM 

Would take degrees angelic here below, 

And virtue, while they compliment, betray, 

By feeble motives, and unfaithful guards. 

The crown, the unfading crown, her soul inspires : 

Tis that, and that alone, can countervail 

The body's treacheries, and the world's assaults ;" 

which require a " Herculean" force to resist, better done in 
" Christian armour." 

The encouragements of religion are built upon a natural 
disposition; and that, fostered by them, looks forward to 
another world. 

To return to the second Night, Young says, that when time 
is well employed, 

" Every moment pays." 

So Lavater says, 

" Jouez avec les heures, mais economisez les moments." 

For the value of moments consists in the habit they give. 
Moments, well spent, pay a high interest ; they pay it in the 
spending, and sometimes double it in the reversion. 

Young says, 

" Time, the supreme ! time is eternity ; 
. Pregnant with all eternity can give." &c. &c. 

The stress that Young here gives to the value of time 
justifies his saying that 

" Life's cares are comforts ; such by heaven design'd ; 
He that has none, must make them, or be wretched. 
Cares are employments, and without employ 
The soul is on the rack, the rack of rest, 
To souls most adverse ; action all their joy." 



young's night thoughts. 11 

So Pope, with a more scenic representation : 

" Thee, too, my Paridel, she saw thee there, 
Stretch'd on the rack of a too easy chair ; 
And heard thy everlasting yawn confess 
The pains and penalties of idleness." 

And Young, in a severer tone, 



" If time past, 
And time possest both pain us, what can please ? 
That which the Deity to please ordain'd, 
Time us'd. The man who consecrates his hours 
By vigorous effort, and an honest aim, 
At once he draws the sting of life and death ; 
He walks with Nature ; and her paths are peace." 

While these " efforts" are made by the body, the mind 
need not be inactive, though the fixture of the eyes upon one 
object may sometimes circumscribe her range. Constant 
bodily employment, and on the same object, deprives the 
mind of much of its activity, as is seen in labourers, &c. 

Impressed with the value of time, the poet says, 

" Hast thou ne'er heard of Time's omnipotence ? 

For, or against, what wonders can he do 1 

And will; to stand blank neuter he disdains. 

Not on those terms was Time (heaven's stranger!) sent 

On his important embassy to man. 

Lorenzo ! no : on the long-destin'd hour, 

From everlasting ages growing ripe, 

That memorable hour of wond'rous birth, 

When the dread Sire, on emanation bent, 

And big with nature, rising in his might, 

Call'd forth creation (for then Time was born) 






V 



12 EXTRACTS FROM 

By Godhead streaming through a thousand worlds ; 
Not on those terms, from the great days of heaven, 
I From old Eternity's mysterious orh, 

Was Time cut off, and cast beneath the skies ; 
J The skies, which watch him in his new abode, 
\ Measuring his motion by revolving spheres, 
\ That horologe machinery divine." 
(As magnificent as it is true.) 

If action, however produced, is necessary to satisfy the 
mind, it may also be necessary to excite and keep alive the 
desire of rest, which affords a temporary relief. Sed non in 
terra quies. 

The whole scope, or at least the main object of this poem, 
is to shew the importance of time, in our use of it here, as a 
preparation for eternity, along with the dispositions which 
should accompany and direct it, under a still higher direction. 
For this, he says, 

( " 'Tis greatly wise to talk with our past hours, 

\ And ask them what report they bore to heaven ! 

i And how they might have borne more welcome news. 

\ Their answers form what men experience call, 

If wisdom's friend, her best; if not, worst foe." 
\ 

Without this, 

" There's nothing here, but what as nothing weighs ; 
The more our joy, the more we know it vain ; 
And by success are tutor'd to despair." 

Young's antitheses and flights of imagination will, I think, 
be often found to add force to his arguments, if our feelings 
are capable of being so excited ; for which a small share of 
sensibility is required. 

For this great purpose, the poet reminds us, that 



young's night thoughts. 13 

" — All mankind mistake their time of day ; 
Even age itself. Fresh hopes are hourly sown 
In furrow'd brows : so gentle life's descent, 
We shut our eyes, and think it is a plain." 

The recollection of the conversations which the poet had 
had on these subjects with his friend Philander, 

" Whose mind was moral, as the preacher's tongue, 
And strong, to wield all science worth the name," 

makes him say, 

" Know'st thou, Lorenzo, what a friend contains ? 
As bees mixt nectar draw from fragrant flowers, 
So men from friendship, wisdom and delight ; 
Twins tied by nature ; if they part, they die." 

And in these communications Cicero says, that natural be- 
nevolence is the " Amicitiee fons," a natura constitutus :" and 
the greatest " utilitas amicitiae" is, " ad emendandos ami- 
corum mores .:" and that " et secundas res splendidiores facit 
amicitia, et adversas, partiens communicansque, leviores." 

" Thought too, deliver'd, is the more possest : 
Teaching we learn ; and giving we retain 
The births of intellect, when dumb, forgot. 
Speech ventilates our intellectual fire ; 
Speech burnishes our mental magazine ; 
Brightens, for ornament ; and whets, for use." 

This would be acknowledged, either in or out of the gay 
circles of society; with the different modifications and re- 
liances that would be resorted to, more or less, in each. Apart 
from these, he says, 

" In contemplation is thy proud resource? 



14 EXTRACTS FROM 

Tis poor, as proud, by converse unsustain'd. 
Converse, the menage, breaks it to the bit 
Of due restraint ; and emulation's spur 
Gives graceful energy, by rivals aw'd. 
'Tis converse qualifies for solitude, 
As exercise, for salutary rest ; 
By that untutor'd, contemplation raves ; 
And nature's fool by wisdom's is outdone." 

For the arbitration of common sense is necessary to make 
us keep within the bounds of it. A man may dream by him- 
self, but he will not do it in society. These descriptions, how- 
ever, will apply to both cases ; but with this difference, that 
in the haunts of contemplation, the excitement to, and sus- 
tainment by, converse, would be mutually felt, when oppor- 
tunities occurred of their being resorted to : in the circles of 
gay society, there would be little excitement to contemplation, 
and no sustainment would be required but the light ones that 
are necessary for such an intercourse, when a prominent part 
is not acted. But in the more important uses of friendship, 

" Needful auxiliars are our friends, to give 
To social man true relish of himself." 

And in still higher we shall find that 

" Virtue alone en tenders us for life : 

I wrong her much — entenders us for ever." 

This may require some " contemplation," some " communing 
with ourselves," to impress us fully with its truth ; though a 
well-disposed mind cannot but feel it. The rest of this 
" Night" is an exemplification of the joys of friendship, as 
enjoyed by him in that of his friend Philander, whose recent 
death he deplores; saying of him, 



YOUNGS NIGHT THOUGHTS. 



" His God sustains him in his final hour ! 

His final hour brings glory to his God ! 

Man's glory heaven vouchsafes to call her own.' 



NIGHT THE THIRD 

Begins with the praise of solitude, (if, as Young says, 
being " alone" may be called so) which, though the solitude 
of " woe " to him, he eulogises, in exclaiming, 

" O lost to virtue, lost to manly thought, 
Lost to the noble sallies of the soul ! 
Who think it solitude to be alone. 
Communion sweet ! communion large and high ! 
_Our reason, guardian angel, and our God ! 
Then nearest these, when others most remote ; 
And all, ere long, shall be remote, but these." 

This is the " communing with ourselves," recommended in 
scripture, as an useful and necessary corrective of the enjoy- 
ments of society, and to mix higher and holier principles with 
the worldly ones which the latter infuse into our minds. To 
enforce the former, he instances his recent loss of Narcissa, 
in addition to that of Philander, whom he had before lamented ; 
and the recollection of both leads him to say, 

" For gay Lorenzo's sake, and for thy own, 
My soul ! the fruits of dying friends survey ; 
Expose the vain of life'; weigh life and death ; 
Give death his eulogy ; thy fear subdue ; 
And labour that first palm of noble minds, 
A manly scorn of terror from the tomb." 



\ 



16 EXTRACTS FROM 

' The arguments by which he supports this, lead him at last 
to say, 

" Live ever here, Lorenzo ! — shocking thought ! 
So shocking, they who wish, disown it too. 
Live ever in the womb, nor see the light ! 
For what live ever here ?" &c. 

After enumerating the comparative nothings which that 
" wish" extends to the enjoyment and endless repetition of, 
he contrasts these, of which he says, 

" A languid, leaden iteration reigns, 

And ever must, o'er those whose joys are joys 

Of sight, smell, taste," &c. 

[These may be refined perceptions, however, sensual as 
they are.] 

With the more rational and elevated enjoyments, by which 

" Nobler minds, 
That relish fruits unripen'd by the sun, 
Make their days various ; various as the dyes 
On the dove's neck, which wanton in his rays. 
On minds of dove-like innocence possest, 
On lighten'd minds, that bask in virtue's beams, 
Nothing hangs tedious, nothing old revolves 
In that for which they long, for which they live. 
Their glorious efforts, wing'd with heavenly hope, 
Each rising morning sees still higher rise : 
Each bounteous dawn its novelty presents 
To worth maturing, new strength, lustre, fame ; 
While nature's circle, like a chariot wheel 
Rolling beneath their elevated aims, 
Makes their fair prospect fairer every hour ; 



young's night thoughts. 17 

Advancing virtue, in a line to bliss : 

Virtue, which Christian motives best inspire ! 

And bliss, which Christian schemes alone ensure!" 

The truth of this beautiful encomium must be acknow- 
ledged by the manliest minds ; whatever they may think of 
the attribute of " dove-like innocence," they cannot deny the 
superiority of " virtue," nor the value of the " motives" 
which " inspire" it, nor that of the 

" Bliss which Christian schemes alone ensure," 

If they do, we may fairly question the soundness both of 
their reason and their feelings. 

As undeniable is it, that 

/ " A truth it is, few doubt, but fewer trust, 

\ He sins against this life, who slights the next." 






" Life has no value as an end, but means : 
An end deplorable ! a means divine!" 

As a means of attaining future happiness ; as being 
" The mighty basis of eternal bliss!" 

And, 
" Life makes the soul dependent on the dust." 

(If considered as " an end" only.) 

" Death gives her wings to mount above the spheres." 

Which spirit may well do, even supposing it to be ma- 
terial : it may have more than the volatility of gas. When 
shall we get to the end of the attenuation of matter ? And 
after all, what is matter ? O metaphysics, how near we ap- 
proach to thee, without the possibility of arriving at thee ! 
c 






18 EXTRACTS FROM 

Metaphysics seems to be a sort of lambent flame, that warms 
and enlightens us, without our being able to touch it. 

Of life, the poet says, 

" If an age, it is a moment still : 
A moment, or eternity's forgot." 

For what given space of time will compare with eternity ? 

Of death he says, 

" Death has no dread, but what frail life imparts, 
And life no joys, but what kind death improves." 

So says reason and faith ; but still we cling to life, little as 
we can know of 

" That undiscover'd country, from whose bourne 
No traveller returns" — fSkakspeare.J 

To tell us what we can learn only from the gospel. En- 
couraged by this, the poet triumphantly exclaims, 

" Our day of dissolution ! name it right ; 

'Tis our great pay-day ; 'tis our harvest, rich 

And ripe ; what though the sickle, sometimes keen, 

Just scars us, as we reap the golden grain ? 

More than thy balm, O Gilead, heals the wound." 

That is, if the " spirit" itself is not " wounded," beyond 
the power of " bearing," or the possibility of healing. 

After a continued and animated eulogium of death, the 
poet ends with 

" Death is the crown of life ; 
Were death deny'd, poor man would live in vain ; 
Were death deny'd, to live would not be life : 
Were death deny'd, even fools would wish to die. 



young's night thoughts. 19 

Death wounds to cure ; we fall ; we rise ; we reign ! 

Spring from our fetters, fasten in the skies ; 

Where blooming Eden withers in our sight : 

Death gives us more than was in Eden lost. 

This king of terrors is the prince of peace. 

When shall I die to vanity, pain, death? 

When shall I die ? when shall I live for ever ?" 

This is the language of reason, heightened by the colour- 
ing of the imagination, and sanctioned by the authority of the 
gospel. To this, however, our natural feelings oppose the 

" To be or not to be ? that is the question : 

To die, to sleep — 

***** 

To sleep, perchance to dream — aye, there's the rub ; 
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, 
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, 
Must give us pause. — There's the respect 
That makes calamity of so long life : 

i For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, 

***** 

When he himself might his quietus make 
With a bare bodkin ? Who would fardels bear, 
To groan and sweat under a weary life, 
But that the dread of something after death, 
That undiscover'd country, from whose bourne 
No traveller returns, puzzles the will, 
And makes us rather bear the ills we have, 
Than fly to others that we know not of? 
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all ; 
And thus the native hue of resolution 

c 2 






20 EXTRACTS FROM 

Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought ;" &c. 

( Shakspeare.) 

I know not whether this deserves to be put in opposition to 
the much more reasonable and better founded arguments (as 
founded on higher authority) of Young (who also combats 
the fear of death), except as being the natural suggestions of 
our feelings, and of our sense of the " unworthiness" which 
deters, and of the " blindness" which disables us from " ask- 
ing" for, and even receiving with confidence when offered to 
us (little as we may have merited it), what we have so much 
reason to wish for, and ought to make such efforts to deserve. 
Perhaps, paradoxical as it may seem, the very hope of im- 
mortality may make us more unwilling to part with a life 
which is brightened with that hope, the sunshine of it, 
clouded as it is apt to be. It is like tearing up the sheet- 
anchor which fastens us to the bottom of life's ocean, on the 
surface of which we are tossed by so many storms. Our fears 
depress our thoughts to that bottom, instead of their being 
elevated by the wings of hope, and the confidence of faith, to 
those regions whither both should carry them. But there is 
still buoyancy enough in them to prevent their total submer- 
sion. Their spirituality, while that remains, will ensure their 
rising. For that, therefore, they should prepare us. 



NIGHT THE FOURTH. 

The poet goes on to " sing the sovereign cure" of " the 
dread of death," by showing that the terrific accompaniment 
of it, the " knell, the shroud," &c. are but 

" The bugbears of a winter's eve, 
The terrors of the living, not the dead." 



young's night thoughts. 21 

Sometimes, however, the terrors of what may await the dead. 
It is singular that the object of our fears should be held out 
as that of our comfort. I mean the cessation of existence. 
To remedy that fear, a future prospect is set in our view, and 
the means of arriving at it shown to us. Perhaps there is 
nothing on which reason and feeling are so apt to be at 
variance with each other, as in considering the extinction of 
life, which death is, as Young's poem is meant to show, and 
with unanswerable arguments, more apparently than really. 
There are, in fact, as many ways of alleviating, if not sub- 
duing the fear of death, as there are of our being assailed by 
it. The best defence against it is, no doubt, to be found in 
religious faith, and a general reliance on the mercy of God, 
and the promises of the gospel to those who fulfil its precepts, 
and have a due veneration for him who gave them, and who 
is recorded in it. All other defence must at least partake of 
insensibility ; for what other solid ground is there of hope ? 
To avail ourselves of its strength, we must first feel our own 
weakness ; and will he do that, who never reflects ? or can 
he who reflects, avoid doing it ? 

The Deist may reason himself into a belief of the mercy of 
God ; but he has no assurance of it ; in him, therefore, it is 
mere matter of opinion ; and how often must he totter on the 
brink of scepticism, and perhaps of atheism itself! He has 
no authority to rely upon, no clue to lead him but what his 
own imagination or reasoning traces out, and the unsteady 
steps of his own variable feelings assist him in following. 
He has no " crook" to guide him into the " ways of plea- 
santness and the paths of peace." 

To what the poet had said, he adds, that the terror of death 
is still more unreasonable in old age, when the experience of 
life should rather make us welcome, than fear death. 

He says also, 
But grant to life (and just it is to grant 



22 EXTRACTS FROM 

To lucky life) some perquisites of joy ; 
A time there is, when like a thrice-told tale, 
Long-rifled life of sweet can yield no more 
But from our comment on the comedy, 
Pleasing reflections on parts well sustain'd, 
Or purpos'd emendations where we fail'd : 
Or hopes of plaudits from our candid judge, 
When, on their exit, souls are bid unrobe, 
Toss Fortune back her tinsel, and her plume, 
And drop this mask of flesh behind the scene." 

Thus does the poet enliven his serious and sometimes 
gloomy admonitions, with this scenic representation. But 
serious, and even gloomy, as his admonitions and reflections 
may be thought, there can be no question either of their truth 
or their importance. 

With this conviction, he says of the busiest occupations of 
life, 

" Why all this toil for triumphs of an hour? 
What though we wade in wealth, or soar in fame ? 
Earth's highest station ends in, ' Here he lies ;' 
And ' dust to dust' concludes her noblest song." 

Avarice he calls 

" The rage canine of dying rich ; 
Guilt's blunder ! and the loudest laugh of hell." 

Avarice must have other excuses given for it than any 
which reason can offer in its defence. It is indeed the im- 
becility of reason. To feel the force of Young's arguments, 
we must have an exciteable imagination, and some strength 
of reason (or use of common sense) to support it. 

" Man wants but little, nor that little long." 



young's night thoughts. 23 

Man's necessary wants are indeed few and small; but 
would the Creator have spread such a feast for him, if he did 
not mean it to be enjoyed with moderation ? both as a gratifi- 
cation of appetite, and a trial of reason. After these reflec- 
tions, and others, on the mercies of recovery from sickness, 
&c. bestowed on himself, he breaks out into the following 
sublime apostrophe : — 

" O thou great arbiter of life and death! 

Nature's immortal, immaterial sun! 

Whose all-prolific beam late call'd me forth 

From darkness, teeming darkness, where I lay 

The worm's inferior, and in rank beneath 

The dust I tread on, high to bear my brow, 

To drink the spirit of the golden day, 

And triumph in existence ; and could'st know 

No motive but my bliss, and hast ordain'd 

A rise and blessing ! with the patriarch's joy 
r Thy call I follow to the land unknown ; 
\ I trust in thee, and know in whom I trust ; 
I Or life, or death, is equal ; neither weighs : 
\ All weight in this — O let me live to thee !" 

Does not the animation of such passages as this make 
ample amends for all the gloom, obscurity, or redundancy 
with which this poem can be reproached ? 

But he says, 

" Though nature's terrors, thus, may be represt, 

Still frowns grim death ; guilt points the tyrant's spear. 

And whence all human guilt? from death forgot." 

Or despised, without a consciousness of innocence, a "murus 
aheneus," to support us in that disregard. 

Smarting with the wounds which this had drawn upon him, 
he says, 






24 EXTRACTS FROM 

" Death's admonitions, like shafts upward shot, 

More dreadful by delay ; the longer ere 

They strike our hearts, the deeper is their wound. 

What hand the barb'd, envenom'd thought can draw ? 

What healing hand can pour the balm of peace, 

And turn my sight undaunted on the tomb ? 

With joy, with grief, that healing hand I see." 

In the great, the astonishing sacrifice of our Saviour and 
Redeemer, who came upon earth to direct the attention of 
man to the end of life, by his example and foreknowledge 
(which even man may have of an event which is to happen at 
some time) of his own death, and to give him an intimation 
of his resurrection, in the visible proof he himself gave of it. 
He then was the " first fruit" of what man may now be 
assured of. Incomprehensible as this is to our understand- 
ings, the truth of it is too well attested not to render our 
belief of it indispensable, and of far too high importance not 
to excite our greatest gratitude, and to receive both " with joy 
and with grief" the benefit conferred upon us ; with joy for that 
benefit, with grief for the dreadful circumstances that attended 
it, as they are justly described by the poet to have been. 

" Draw the dire steel — ah no ! — the dreadful blessing 
What heart or can sustain, or dares forego ?" 

Necessary as it was for our redemption, however little we 
may be able to comprehend it. We know the facts of our 
blessed Saviour's life and passion ; we know his miracles ; 
we know his declarations ,• we know the excellence of his cha- 
racter ; we know all that was predicted concerning him ,• we 
know the fact of his resurrection and ascension ; and we 
know what were the sufferings of the martyrs, who had been 
eye-witnesses, or immediate ear-witnesses, of all that they at- 
tested. What more would we know, to authorize and require 



young's night thoughts. 25 

our belief that he was divine ? The precepts he has given 
are of themselves sufficient to show it. 



Impressed by all this, the poet says, 
" To feel, is to be fired : 






Religion not being less addressed to the feelings, than the 
reason. What well-disposed Christian then will not say, 
" Lord, I believe, help thou mine unbelief " ? or will attempt 
to depreciate or lower that belief to which his reason is sub- 
mitted, not violated by it. What can he substitute in lieu of 
it, but the dictates of that reason, fallible and perverted as it 
is by him ? Well may that be incomprehensible to us, which 
" the angels themselves desire to look into;" an assertion 
which was no more made " in a corner," than the " things 
were done" which it alluded to : and truth is best seen in 
open day-light. These things may be " foolishness" to some, 
and " a stumbling-block" to others; but to those who be- 
lieve, after due examination, they show " the power, the 
wisdom, and the mercy of God." When we consider the 
mystery of our redemption, and the authorities that confirm 
it, we must feel that we cannot be too grateful for the bless- 
ings it has bestowed upon us, nor too earnest in our endea- 
vours to avail ourselves of them, by following the precepts 
that have been given to us, which will be the surest, and 
indeed the only way to obtain the favour of God, and the hap- 
piness that has been promised to us on these conditions. For, 
says the poet, 

" A God all mercy is a God unjust." 

There is an apparent boldness in thus laying ourselves 
open to his justice, when we have so much need of his mercy j 
but can we deny any of his attributes? This justice re- 
quired 



26 EXTRACTS FROM 

" The fund of heaven, 
Heaven's inexhaustible, exhausted fund," 

For which there was a full demand, to 

" Pour forth a price," 
For what was 

" All price beyond." 

That is, the redemption of man. Let us not attempt to 
explore the mystery, but believe it, on the evidence which 
attests its truth : open our hearts to receive it, nor aim at a 
knowledge, which " archangels faiFd" to gain. 

The facts are before us ; let us decide upon them. Let us 
leave the rest to 

" That parent power, 
Who gives the tongue to sound, the thought to soar, 

The soul to be." 

* * * * 

" And shall not praise be his, not human praise, 
While heaven's high hosts on hallelujahs live ?" 

As we may well suppose them to do, for what but spiritual 
food can they require ? 

He then allows himself, as the Psalmist does, to ramble (in 
imagination) in search of the " mighty mind," which produced 
the wonders of the creation ; to which he subjoins, 

" What mean these questions ? — trembling I retract; 

My prostrate soul adores the present God ! 

Praise I a distant Deity ? He tunes 

My voice (if tuned ;) the nerve that writes, sustains ; 

Wrapp'd in his Being, I resound his praise. 

But though past all diffus'd, without a shore, 

His essence ; local is his throne, as must, 



\ 



young's night thoughts. 27 

To gather the disperst, as standards call 
The listed from afar, to fix a point, 
A central point, collective of his sons, 
Since finite every nature, but his own." 

For this (as I have said elsewhere) our imaginations may 
find some probability, especially in Mons. Lambert's System 
of Astronomy ; but to decide upon or to explain it, otherwise 
than as Young does, is out of our power. 

Young's imagination sometimes carries him beyond the 
bounds of intelligence, as well it may, on such a subject ; we, 
however, have a glimpse of his meaning, through all his 
sublime obscurity; as he seems to have had, through the 
telescope of his imagination, of the objects which he describes 
in such glowing colours. 

" The great First-Last ! pavilion'd high he sits 
In darkness from excessive splendor, borne 
By gods unseen, unless through lustre lost." 

Lustre not their own — unseen, from want of power of vision 
— but Job says, "in my flesh shall I see God." 

After dwelling on these transcendent objects, and on the 
reasons which man has to believe and to be grateful for what 
has been done for him, he says, 

" O how is man enlarg'd, 
Seen through this medium ! how the pigmy towers ! 
How counterpois'd his origin from dust ! 
How counterpois'd, to dust his sad return ! 
How voided his vast distance from the skies ! 
How near he presses on the seraph's wing! 

What more can a seraph be, than the '* image of God V 
These effusions the poet follows by asking, 
"Is this extravagant ? of man we form 



Which is the seraph ? which the born of clay V 



28 EXTRACTS FROM 

Extravagant conceptions, to be just ; 
Conception unconfin'd wants wings to reach him ; 
Beyond its reach the Godhead only more." 

This may be true, if it is true, as Young says elsewhere, 
" Start'st thou at mysteries? The greatest thou." 

Will this allow the " yvc»9t atavrov ?" * Yes, in some de- 
gree. Young had said before, 

" Man! know thyself, all wisdom centers there." 

The poet (for surely he is one) goes on, inspired by his sub- 
ject, to assimilate " angels and men 5 ' to each other, and, as 
both must have the same object, he says, 

" Religion's all. Descending from the skies 
To wretched man, the goddess in her left 
Holds out this world, and in her right the next : 
Religion ! the sole voucher man is man ; 
Supporter sole of man above himself ; 
Even in this night of frailty, change, and death, 
She gives the soul a soul that acts a god. 
Religion ! Providence ! an after- state ! 
Here is firm footing, here is solid rock ; 
This can support us : all is sea besides ; 
Sinks under us, bestorms, and then devours. 
His hand the good man fastens on the skies, 
And bids earth roll, nor feels her idle whirl." 

" Si fractus illabatur orbis, 
Impavidum ferient ruinee." 

The sentiment is much the same, but with the superiority of 
religious faith in the Christian. The enthusiastic termination 
of Young's reasoning surely cannot be blamed, if we make the 

* Know thyself. 



young's night thoughts. 29 

proper distinction between the ardent feelings of the mind, 
and the infirmities of the body. In one we have the " divinse 
particula aurae" given us; in the other, the eye of Pro- 
vidence has " numbered even the hairs of our heads." The 
exercise of our reason is the best guide that we can have in 
the use of the first, and that of our faith (reasonable faith) in 
our belief of, and reliance upon the second ; an omniscient 
Providence must know the minutest concerns of his creatures. 
This sublime and most interesting subject, far as it is above 
the reach of man's comprehension, and only within that of his 
wishes, hopes, and feelings, and his efforts to arrive finally at 
their object, by the means here pointed out, carries the poet 
from the highest abodes of divinity, down to these lower sub- 
lunary regions, to which our Saviour and Redeemer descended 
to assume the human form, and by his doctrines, his miracles, 
the example of his most moral, religious, and beneficent life, 
and his final sacrifice of it, followed by his resurrection and 
ascension, to lead his followers to, and prepare them for, their 
future ascent also to the abodes of eternal happiness in heaven, 
after the trials they have undergone, and, with his assistance, 
sustained on earth. This might well excite the poet's most 
enthusiastic expressions of gratitude and praise, mixed with 
all the astonishment and consequent hesitation of belief, which 
is finally overpowered by the evidence that has been given of 
the truth of our religion, and the necessary accordance of our 
reason and our feelings, when neither are perverted in that 
belief. The latter, as first excited, call forth the first effusion 
of the poet's sense of them, which has all the sanction that his 
reason can give it, for he says, 

" Wear I the blessed cross, by fortune stampt 
On passive nature, before thought was born ? 
My birth's blind bigot ! fir'd with local zeal ! 
No ; reason rebaptiz'd me when adult ; 
Weigh'd true and false, in her impartial scale ; 

6 



30 EXTRACTS FROM 

My heart became the convert of my head, 
And made that choice, which once was but my fate : 
On argument alone my faith is built : 
Reason pursu'd is faith, and unpursu'd 
Where proof invites, 'tis reason then no more : 
And such our proof, that, or our faith is right, 
Or reason lies, and heaven design'd it wrong : 
Absolve we this ? what, then, is blasphemy ?" 

Admitting this, as we surely must admit it, the poet is fully 
justified in saying, 

" Wrong not the Christian, think not reason yours : 
(Addressing himself to unbelievers) 

'Tis reason our great Master holds so dear ; 
'Tis reason's injur'd rights his wrath resents ; 
'Tis reason's voice obey'd his glories crown, 
To give lost reason life, he pour'd his own. 
Believe, and taste the pleasure of a God ; 
Believe, and look with triumph on the tomb ; 
Through reason's wound alone thy faith can die : 
Which dying, tenfold terror gives to death, 
And dips in venom his twice-mortal sting." 

True, for what can give us more remorse than the sense of 
having abused our reason ? and the abuse may lead to the com- 
mission of every crime. The first effect is in producing the 
infidelity which naturally follows the abuse or neglect of our 
reason, much as our nature wants its guidance and admonition. 

This abuse of reason, which, says the poet, " idolizes and 
vilifies" at once, then " kills," and afterwards " deifies it," 
(for reason is destroyed when too highly exalted) makes the 
infidels 



young's night thoughts. 31 

" Draw pride's curtain o'er the noontide ray, 
(Reason's brightest sunshine) 

Spike up their inch of reason, on the point 

Of philosophic wit, call'd argument : 

And then, exulting in their taper, cry, 

1 Behold the sun! and, Indian-like, adore.' " 

This is an example of the 

" Ridiculum acri 
Fortius et melius magnas plerumque secat res." 

So powerful is the imagination, when assisted by reason, in 
using and directing its weapons in defence of the cause it 
espouses. Encouraged by these auxiliaries, the poet triumph- 
antly exclaims, 

" A Christian is the highest style of man ; 

And is there, who the blessed cross wipes off, 

As a foul blot, from his dishonour'd brow ? 

If angels tremble, 'tis at such a sight : 

The wretch they quit, desponding of their charge ; 

More struck with grief or wonder, who can tell ?" 

The feelings of angels may be similar to ours, though not 
so painful. Milton frees them from pain (rather improbably, 
I think) by representing them as, 

" When mixt 
With pity, violating not their bliss." 

But pity is sympathy, and sympathy is fellow-suffering. 
Addressing himself to the 

" Sold to sense, the citizens of earth," 

for, says he, 



32 EXTRACTS FROM 

" Such alone the Christian banner fly," 

he represents to them the little consequence that all their 
earthly pursuits are of, in comparison with " eternity/' which, 
he says, " is all." 

" And whose eternity ? who triumphs there ? 

Bathing for ever in the font of bliss ! 

For ever basking in the Deity ! 

Lorenzo ! who ? Thy conscience shall reply, 

give it leave to speak ; 'twill speak ere long, 
Thy leave unask'd ; Lorenzo, hear it now, 

While useful its advice, its accents mild." 

* * * * 

In this strain he goes on, ending with, 

" Ye deaf to truth! peruse this parson'd page, 
And trust, for once, a prophet, and a priest: 
Men may live fools, but fools they cannot die." 

For then there will be nothing to interpose itself between 
them and their consciences, the stings of which may be "en- 
venomed" by their recollections. 
/- Young presses to his object, through all the enthusiastic 
/ workings of feeling and of imagination, that the object so 
powerfully excites ; and if his reader's imagination is also 
warmed, and his attention fixed, I think he will generally, if 
not always, keep pace with him, both in intelligence and in 
, feeling. His " thoughts," deep and sublime as the " night" 

1 they were written in, will both 

I* Play round the head, and penetrate the heart." 



young's night thoughts. 33 



NIGHT THE FIFTH 

Begins with an admirable answer to some criticisms of 
Lorenzo's, to which the poet replies, 

" Lorenzo ! to recriminate is just, 

Fondness of fame is avarice of air. 

I grant the man is vain, who writes for praise : 

Praise no man e'er deserv'd, who sought no more." 

unless he sought it as Horace did, 

" Delectando, pariterque monendo." 

as Young has done. 

" As just thy second charge, I grant the muse 

Has often blush'd at her degenerate sons, 

Retain'd by sense" (sensuality) " to plead her filthy cause, 

To raise the low, to magnify the mean, 

And subtilize the gross into refin'd ; 

As if to magic numbers' powerful charm 

'Twas given, to make a civet of their song 

Obscene, and sweeten ordure to perfume. 

Wit, a true pagan, deifies the brute, 

And lifts our swine enjoyments from the mire." 

The use of wit was never better exercised than in censuring 
the abuse of it, which is amply done here. In fact, there is 
nothing more licentious, more tempting, and therefore more 
dangerous, than wit when ill employed. It lessens, if not puts 
an end to, our veneration for the most sacred things, and 
destroys all serious thought, all rational reflection : for it con- 
founds, and puts on the same level, all the objects of the love 
or hatred, the attachment to, or avoidance of, both ; all those 



34 EXTRACTS FROM 

objects being amalgamated together by wit, which has the 
power of overcoming or reversing all moral attraction or 
repulsion. 

The poet goes on to investigate the " causes" of all this 
perversion and confusion. He says, first, that 

" We wear the chains of pleasure, and of pride, 
These share the man ; and these distract him too, 
Draw different ways, and clash in their commands ; 
Pride, like an eagle, builds among the stars ; 
But pleasure, lark-like, nests upon the ground." 

Alas, must we vilify the most beautiful of the animal crea- 
tion, to assimilate them to their lord and master, man ? but they 
will not abuse their instinct, however man does his reason. 

" Joys, shar'd by brute creation, pride resents ; 
Pleasure embraces ; man would both enjoy, 
And both at once, a point how hard to gain !" 

Reason has the power of regulating and reconciling both ; 
how valuable then is her assistance ! 

" Wit dares attempt this arduous enterprise." 

Which she accomplishes, not by reconciling, but by con- 
founding both, as Young goes on to shew. In the pleasures 
of conviviality, where there is a temporary exultation, she 
calls Bacchus to her assistance, who, as the catch says, 

" Gave the charter, 
That a man should barter 
Wisdom and his health, for the joys of — a swine." 

And 
" Joys of sense can't rise to reason's taste," 
unless she mixes the draught herself. 



young's night thoughts. 35 

But, disgusted with the insipidity of this, 

" Man smiles in ruin, glories in his guilt, 
And infamy stands candidate for praise." 

What can exceed Young's strength and acuteness ? So 
heightened are his powers by the elevation of their object. He 
rises still higher, however, in carrying us by his 

" Solemn counsels, images of awe," to 
" Truths, which eternity lets fall on man 
With double weight, through these revolving spheres," 

[The celestial bodies, that illuminated and inspired his 
" Night Thoughts."] 

" This death-like silence, and incumbent shade," 

[Turn not away from this picture, gay reader, if you are not 
quite a Lorenzo.] 

" Thoughts such as shall revisit your last hour, 

Visit uncall'd, and live when life expires." 

[And is there no benefit for those who may want it — and 
who does not ? — in these anticipations, which — but read it, 
again I say to my gay readers, if I have such, and if they have 
any taste or feeling, for what I faintly endeavour to extol — 
read it, though it ends, if ending it may be called, with this 
severe admonition :] 

ST*** «.«.-«* Wow. 

Her tender nature suffers in a crowd, 
Nor touches on the world without a stain ; 
The w r orld's infectious, few bring back, at eve, 
Immaculate, the manners of the morn." 

This, however, is not unexceptionably, or unrestrictiveljv 
true ; for both good and evil may be learned in the world, 
d 2 



( 



36 EXTRACTS FROM 

and afterwards meditated upon, between " morn and eve," or 
in their night thoughts, with their faithful counsellor, the 
pillow. 

These varied thoughts, and these sublime objects, naturally 
suggest an apostrophe to the "blest Spirit," who created and 
rules the whole, and 

" Who, studious of our peace, doth turn the thought 
From vain and vile, to solid and sublime !" 

The poet pursues his subject, till he has in a manner ex- 
hausted it, or at least drawn much of the spirit out of it, of 
which, however, much still remains unexpressed; and he 
fulfils Horace's precept, 

" Servetur ad imum 
Qualis ab incepto processerit, et sibi constet." 

or rather he improves upon it, in the expansions of his fertile 
and vivifying imagination. He draws another delightful pic- 
ture, in saying, 

11 The conscious moon, through every distant age, 
Has held a lamp to wisdom, and let fall 
On contemplation's eye, her purging ray." 

This is followed by some beautiful thoughts, as beautifully 
expressed, on nightly meditations and their utility, which 
Young had so strongly felt himself (" the famed Athenian, 
Plato," could not have felt it more), and must have so fully 
impressed on those who read and relish his sublime poem ; 
and he continues this with all the luxuriance and energy of 
his poetic vein ,♦ lamenting, however (certainly more than it 
deserved, for we can only infer from it that he felt even more 
than he expressed), his own want of power, saying, at the 
same time, 

" 'Tis vain for man to seek for more than man." 



YOUNGS NIGHT THOUGHTS. 6i 

Yes, but man should endeavour to make the most of his 
own powers, as Young has evidently done in this his favourite 
work. His case entitled him to say, 

" If wisdom is our lesson (and what else 
Ennobles man ? what else have angels learnt ?) 
Grief! more proficients in thy school are made, 
Than genius, or proud learning, ere could boast." 

This, too, he pursues with all the amusing variety of meta- 
phors that his imagination could suggest, and ends with saying, 

" Wisdom less shudders at a fool, than wit." 

And well it may, for wit and wisdom are generally at vari- 
ance with each other. The wit may be " wise in his own 
conceit ;" but Solomon has told us, " that there is more hope 
of a fool than of such." Wit, when ill employed, dazzles too 
much to let a ray of reason pierce through its false glare. 
Reason enlightens, wit blinds. 

But, says Young, 

" Wisdom smiles, when humbled mortals weep." 

Yes, wisdom is often, as Gray's " Ode to Adversity" so 
beautifully expresses it, 

" In sable garb array 'd, 
With keenly searching look profound." 

and it makes us find that " it is good for us to have been in 
trouble." After dwelling upon, and exemplifying this, and 
saying that " worldly wisdom and divine differ," 

" Just as the waning and the waxing moon ; 
More empty worldly wisdom every day ; 
And every day more fair her rival shines." 
(another of Young's beautiful similes.) 



38 EXTRACTS FROM 

He instances the life of the " good man," of whom he says, 

" O let me die his death ! all nature cries : 
' Then live his life'— * all nature falters there. 
Our great Physician daily to consult, 
To commune with the grave, our only cure." 

For a disorder that meets with so many inflammatories in 
the enjoyments and business of life, that " feverish dream," 
that will not suffer us to wake till it closes. Young goes on 
to say, 

" What grave prescribes the best ? a friend's ; and yet, 

From a friend's grave how soon we disengage !" 

* * * & 

" Nor reason, nor affection, no, nor both 
Combin'd, can break the witchcrafts of the world." 

Severe as this may be, I fear there is too much truth in it ; 
enough, at least, to call for the poet's admonitory caution 
against suffering these " witchcrafts" to do more than fit us 
for the business of encountering, without being seduced by 
them. And witches are not all old women. 

Human life is so crowded with varying facts and events, 
that it hardly allows time or room for the mind to combine or 
to reason generally upon them. If the ideas of them are asso- 
ciated, it is often more from a concurrence of the times when 
they took place, than from any analogy between them ; and 
this adds to the difficulty of the combinations ; so that every 
man's memory is, more or less, what the French punningly 
call, " une memoire d'aubergiste." As Young says, 

" Is it that life has sown her joys so thick, 

We can't thrust in a single care between ? 

Is it, that life has such a swarm of cares, 

The thought of death can't enter for the throng ?" 



YOUNGS NIGHT THOUGHTS. 39 

Is it, that time steals on with downy feet, 
Nor wakes indulgence from her golden dream ? 
To-day is so like yesterday, it cheats ; 
We take the lying sister for the same." 

So that our minds are as much confounded by the simi- 
larity, as by the variety of occurrences. 

Still unable to solve this problem, he shews its final con- 
clusion by saying, that 

11 On a sudden we perceive a shock ; 
Then start, awake, look out ; what see we there ? 
Our brittle bark is burst on Charon's shore." 

We have, however, our warnings of this, and sometimes, it 
is to be hoped, profit by them ; and will not even a little profit 
be accepted ? 

If we are insensible to them, and to all such arguments as 
are used in this sublime poem, and above all to the declarations 
of the Gospel, and the facts and examples recorded in it, and 
foretold by the prophets, and to the constancy with which the 
early Christian martyrs testified their belief in them, by under- 
going the most painful deaths, we shall have little reason to 
hope for that mercy which is reserved even for " the eleventh 
hour." But that belief which is so imperfect as to extort from 
us the address of " Lord, I believe, help thou mine unbelief," 
will, we may hope, obtain for us, if our lives are conformable 
to it, the mercy which, we are told, " reacheth unto the 
heavens." And how many are the sinners who are not too 
hardened or too proud to " confess their sins," who, " few" 
as the " chosen" may be, will be comprehended in it ! 

But the last case which the poet adverts to, will, it is to be 
feared, often place out of the reach of mercy, those who commit 
the dreadful act of " suicide," of which he speaks with all the 
horror and indignation it deserves. He says of it, 



40 EXTRACTS FROM 

" I grant the deed 
Is madness ; but the madness of the heart : 
And what is that ? our utmost bound of guilt." 

He had said before that it must be either satiety or privation 
of worldly and sensual pleasures, that prepare men for this 
desperate act, and makes them 

" Thus bold to break 
Heaven's law supreme, and desperately rush 
Through sacred Nature's murder, on their own ; 
Because they never think of death, they die." 

That is, because they had never thought of death as the 
proper "visitation of God," and therefore not to be anti- 
cipated by their own voluntary act. 

" Less base the fear of death, than fear of life." 

The suicide rushes on death, because he fears a life of 
remorse or of suffering ; the patient Christian (and the greatest 
courage is passive) fears death because he knows not to what 
it may lead, if he has not prepared himself for it by a life of 
piety, patience, and resignation. Those who are not thus pre- 
pared, either rush on death, which they dare not " think" 
seriously of, or live on, in the hope that its sudden visitation 
will save them from the pain of thinking, and its attendant 
terrors, without any better hope that may alleviate them. The 
Christian meets his death in hope ; the suicide anticipates his 
in despair. This, however, will apply only to deliberate 
suicide : in cases of absolute insanity, the act itself is pardon- 
able, if not blameless, and may be considered as another 
" visitation of God ;" and the culpability will rest on the pre- 
vious conduct of the suicide, as far as it led to his insanity 
and self-destruction. For 



young's night thoughts. 41 

" A sensual, unreflecting life, is big 

With monstrous births, and suicide, to crown 

The black, infernal brood." 

How far all this will "shut the gates of mercy," and ex- 
clude the individual from the number of those to whom God 
" will show it," He only can judge. The poet goes on to say, 

" "lis equally man's duty, glory, gain, 
At once to shun, and meditate his end." 

which, says he, is best done, 

" When by the bed of languishment we sit, 

(The seat of wisdom, if our choice, not fate) 

Or o'er our dying friends in anguish hang," &c. &c. 

Stop not here, O reader, if you have the book in your hand, 
and turn not away from the rest of this affecting representa- 
tion, if it comes not too home to your own feelings. 

After viewing this subject in various lights, and citing ex- 
amples of various conduct in it, in which all the flow of 
Young's imagination displays itself, he says that 

" Half round the globe, the tears pumpt up by death 
Are spent in watering vanities of life ; 
In making folly flourish still more fair." 

[In the solaces resorted to, the ostentation of mourning, &c] 

He contrasts this with the permanence of his own grief for 
the loss of " Narcissa," of whom he says, 

" Early, bright, transient, chaste as morning dew, 
She sparkled, was exhaled, and went to heaven." 

How just is this simile, in all its particulars ! He dwells 
on his recollection of her, and the tears which the softening 
effects of grief force to flow ; but says that 



42 EXTRACTS FROM 

" We stand, as in a battle, throngs on throngs 
Around us falling, wounded oft ourselves ; 
Though bleeding with our wounds, immortal still." 
[adhuc immortal], and though 

" We see time's furrows on another's brow, 
And death intrench'd, preparing his assault ;" 
yet still, 

" How few themselves, in that just mirror, see ! 
Or seeing, draw their inference as strong!" 

This ends with a metaphor, somewhat too forced : 
" Folly sings six, while Nature points at twelve." 

This would be fitter for a caricature than a representation. 
Reasoning more to the point, he says, 

*' Absurd longevity ! more, more, it cries ; 

More life, more wealth, more trash of every kind ! 

And wherefore mad for more, when relish fails ?" 

These " bawbles," however, are among the best that life (as 
life) affords ; and they certainly were not given for nothing. 
Does not too rigid a comparison between the two lives, ex- 
clude some at least of the pleasures of this ? But Young 
wrote by star-light. 

To support his reasoning, he says, 

" Think you, the soul, when this life's rattles cease, 
Has nothing of more manly to succeed ? 
Contract the taste immortal ; learn even now 
To relish what alone subsists hereafter : 
Divine, or none, henceforth your joys for ever, 
Of age the glory is, to wish to die." 



young's night thoughts. 43 

Well, we may concede this to old age, in which, however, 
" the wish to die," is hardly consistent with resignation, nor 
yet with the enjoyments that still remain, in which, indeed, 
there are moments when we look forward to better prospects, 
encouraged too by the feelings which Nature's beauties excite, 
and the bounty which they manifest in the Creator. With 
these enjoyments, 

" Peace and esteem is all that age can hope ; 
Nothing but wisdom gives the first ; the last 
Nothing but the repute of being wise : 
Folly bars both ; our age is then undone." 

To attain or prevent these consequences, he says that 

" Age should fly concourse, cover in retreat 
Defects of judgment, and the will subdue ; 
Walk thoughtful on the silent, solemn shore 
Of that vast ocean it must sail on soon ; 
And put good works on board, and wait the wind 
That shortly blows us into worlds unknown ; 
If unconsider'd too, a dreadful scene !" 

This is consistent enough with the reasonable enjoyment of 
society (narrowed as its circle is towards the end of life) 
without which we could not shew our example to others ; but 
to do that to too many, would be ostentation ; nor, indeed, do 
old people generally desire it ; such is providential adaptation. 
Surely, the justness, animation, and vivacity of Young's | 
thoughts and expressions make ample amends for their gloom 
and asperity. He then urges Lorenzo to consider all this, 
and passes again to Narcissa, calling on her (as seen in his 
" mind's eye") to 

" Aid him to keep pace 
With destiny ; and ere her scissars cut 



44 EXTRACTS FROM 

His thread of life, to break the tougher thread 
Of moral death, that ties him to the world." 

If this is so, it is not only " one death" that we are in, " in 
the midst of life." We should, indeed, be " dead to sin, but 
alive to righteousness." This is the life that will last for ever. 
Young then looks round the world, to see that 

" Man, like a stream, is in perpetual flow ; 
Death's a destroyer of quotidian prey." 

To supply the vacancy made by this voracious destruction of 
every succeeding generation, and in almost every day, it may 
be said that 

'* Novus saeclorum nascitur ordo." 
Perhaps part of my readers will agree with me in hoping that 
this may be peculiarly applied to the enactment of the lately 
passed reform bill, June 1832. Is this too minute an object 
for insertion in Young's general panorama of time, as far as 
regards this world? I think not; and the destinies of one we 
know are connected with those of the other. 

Young then calls on the 

" Partners of his fault and his decline." 

[His fault in not preparing for the event towards which his 
decline was bringing him] saying to them, 

" That death you dread (so great is Nature's skill) 
Know you shall court, before you shall enjoy." 

. This, however, would depend upon their greater or less 
longevity. But this, he says, they drive from their thoughts 
by the pursuits of learning (every thing but what they ought 
to learn, so severe he is both upon himself and others) and 
much of what " need not be known," and (worse) what 
makes them " sink in virtue as they rise in fame." Death, 
however, is still at hand, as " his joy supreme" is 



young's night thoughts. 45 

" To bid the wretch survive the fortunate, 
The feeble, wrap the athletic in his shroud, 
And weeping fathers build their children's tomb ; 
Me thine, Narcissa ! what though short thy date ? 
Virtue, not rolling suns, the mind matures ; 
That life is long, which answers life's great end." 

But death takes more than Lorenzo was disposed to " give 
him, the young and gay," as well as " the wretched and the 
old" — " and plunder is a tyrant's joy." 

" Thus runs death's dread commission ! strike, but so 

As most alarms the living by the dead. 

Hence stratagem delights him, and surprise, 

And cruel sport with men's securities." 

* * * * 

" Most happy they, whom least his arts deceive ; 
One eye on death, and one full fix'd on heaven, 
Becomes a mortal, and immortal man." 

[As we have two natures, the "■ mind's eye" may have two 
objects ; and there cannot well be a less variety of mental 
than of bodily " food."] 

" Long on his wiles, a piqu'd and jealous spy, 
I've seen, or dreamt I've seen, the tyrant dress ; 
Lay by his horrors, and put on his smiles." 

" The farthest from the fear 
Are often nearest to the stroke of fate." 

Which is exemplified in the description of " Death," as 
assuming the form of a " gay masquerader," and 

" Treading in pleasure's footsteps round the world, 
When pleasure treads the paths, which reason shuns," 



46 EXTRACTS FROM 

And when he has multiplied his followers, and 

" When fear is banish'd, and triumphant thought, 
Calling for all the joys beneath the moon, 
Against him turns the key, and bids him sup 
With their progenitors." 

[Whom perhaps he had destroyed in the same manner.] 

"He drops his mask ; 
Frowns out at full ; they start, despair, expire." 

This is a fearful picture, but only true 

" When pleasure treads the paths which reason shuns." 

And reason allows the enjoyment of pleasure in a moderate 
degree, but not, perhaps, at a " masquerade," and certainly 
still less, 

" Where, against reason, riot shuts the door, 
And gaiety supplies the place of sense. 
There, foremost at the banquet, and the ball, 
Death leads the dance, or stamps the deadly die, 
Nor ever fails the midnight bowl to crown." 

Such is the fate of the votaries of pleasure, or rather of 
licentiousness; for certainly these pleasures are not of the 
kind — " which neither blushes nor expires." 

Authorised by this, the poet cautions Lorenzo against 

" Wrapping his soul 
In soft security, because unknown 
Which moment is commission'd to destroy. 
In death's uncertainty thy danger lies ; 
Is death uncertain ? therefore thou be fixt ; 
Fixt as a sentinel, all eye, all ear, 
All expectation of the coming foe. 



young's night thoughts. 47 

Rouse, stand in arms, nor lean against thy s'pear ; 

Lest slumber steal one moment o'er thy soul, 

And fate surprise thee nodding. Watch, be strong ; 

Thus give each day the merit, and renown, 

Of dying well, though doom'd but once to die. 

Nor let life's period, hidden (as from most) 

Hide too from thee the precious use of life." 

Then again he returns to " Narcissa," strengthening his 
admonitions by the example of her " early, not sudden fate," 
for which she was prepared, with all the " fortune, youth, and 
gaiety/' that she was possessed of. Insensible as he finds 
Lorenzo of this (and how many Lorenzos are there !) the poet 
says to him, 

" What makes men wretched? happiness denied? 
Lorenzo ! no, 'tis happiness disdain'd : 
She comes too meanly drest to win our smiles, 
And calls herself Content, a homely name ! 
Our flame is transport, and content our scorn. 
Ambition turns, and shuts the door against her, 
And weds a toil, a tempest, in her stead. 
A tempest to warm transport near of kin. 
Unknowing what our mortal state admits, 
Life's modest joys we ruin, while we raise ; 
And all our extacies are wounds to peace ; 
Peace, the full portion of mankind below." 

That is, as far as " the world can give it ;" what it cannot,, 
we pray for in our Liturgy. Our worldly peace, however, we 
often sacrifice to the pursuit either of fortune or happiness, 
such as the poet instances in the case of " Lysander and 
Aspasia," promising as it was, when 

" In youth, form, fortune, fame, they both were blest ; 
All who knew, envied ; yet in envy lov'd : 



48 EXTRACTS FROM 

Can fancy form more finisli'd happiness ? 
Fixt was the nnptial hour." 

But prevented by the shipwreck of Lysander, followed by 
the death of his bride. This recals to the poet's mind the 
loss of Narcissa and Philander, and he ends with 

" And is it then to live ? when such friends part, 
'Tis the survivor dies — my heart ! no more." 

I think the want of pathos, imputed to Young by those 
who, perhaps, dislike to attend to his admonitions, is by no 
means just, for he wrote as if he felt, though he may not 
please them by the expression of his feelings, any more than 
he does by his admonitions. But if they will not feel one, I 
should doubt their capability of feeling the other. I am 
almost inclined to think, that the dislike of some (of the gay 
at least) is to the nocturnal contemplations of this poem. 
They had rather spend their nights under the glare of gas 
lights, globe lamps, &c. They have no minds for star or 
moon-light meditations. 

But we are all fellow-sufferers as well as fellow-sinners, and 
should have a fellow-feeling for the faults as well as the virtues 
of others, which we shall, if we are not sour-headed or self- 
conceited mortals, and do not " snatch the balance and the 
rod from the hand" of our Creator and Judge. There is not, 
perhaps, a single merit that we can claim to ourselves. 
Horace's " causa fuit pater his," will be properly applied to 
the " Pater qui est in ccelo," The only thing remaining for 
us, is the sense of not having sufficiently availed ourselves of 
what has been given to us. 

" Nil actum reputans, si quid superesset agendum." 

So much will have been " left undone" in the general account. 
Competition, however, has its advantages here, as well as in 
trade. Such is the ' ' mixed yarn of the web" of our nature. 



young's night thoughts. 49 



NIGHT THE SIXTH. 

Again the poet dwells upon the subject of his losses, in- 
tense and forcible as his feelings and expression of them are, 
opposing, however, to them their antidotes, of which the 
thought of immortality is the first, and the sense of our dig- 
nity which it inspires us with, saying, 

" Revere thyself, and yet thyself despise. 
His nature as man can o'er-rate, and none 
Can under-rate his merit. Take good heed, 
Nor there be modest, where thou shouldst be proud ; 
That almost universal error shun. 
How just our pride, when we behold these heights." 
[Meaning, probably, the stars he was looking up to.] 

" Not those ambition points in air, but those 
Reason points out, and ardent virtue gains, 
And angels emulate ; our pride how just !" 

We should know how to value our nature, that we may act 
up to its original purity. We are now more the objects of 
mercy than of favour, and we must live in the hope of being 
among those on whom " God will have mercy." This mercy 
we can no more calculate upon, than upon the justice with 
which it must be consistent. Whatever pride we may feel, as 
being " the images of our Maker," we must look for its jus- 
tification to Him who came down from heaven to save us : as 
St. Paul says, "if we needs must glory, we must glory in 
the cross." There shall we learn the value of the soul : a 
value which, as Young afterwards says, 

" Is writ in all the conduct of the skies." 

E 



50 EXTRACTS FROM 

Whether regarding 

" The natural, civil, or religious world," 

.all three being subservient to the great end of " rescuing souls 
from death." 

Here again he exerts the powers of his imagination and 
feelings, in anticipating the enjoyments that the good may- 
expect in a future life. 

" In an eternity, what scenes shall strike ! 

Adventures thicken ! novelties surprise ! 

What webs of wonder shall unravel there ! 

What full day pour on all the path of heaven, 

And light the Almighty's footsteps in the deep !" &c. &c. 

Magnificent as these ideas are, the two first seem to relate 
too much to earthly enjoyments to be applied to celestial, in 
which no ie adventures/' no " novelties/' are required to add 
to the "fulness of joy" which must be found "in the pre- 
sence (omnipresence) of God/' and will last for ever, in sing- 
ing his praises, and admiring his works. 

" Great ill is an achievement of great powers : 
Plain sense but rarely lead us far astray." 

It were well if this was more attended to ; but men of 
" great powers," but little " plain sense," often neglect those 
admonitions, and will not 

" Let genius then despair to make them great — " 

They 
" Flatter station ; what is station high ? 
'Tis a proud mendicant ; it boasts, and begs ; 
It begs an alms of homage from the throng, 
And oft the throng denies its charity." 



young's night thoughts. 51 

As has been found by many who have depended solely upon 
their rank, station, or riches to obtain this " charity" from 
" the throng." Do not these want " reform ?" 

The same may be said of 

" Monarchs and ministers, those awful names ;" 

whether they are ministers of state or of " religion," &c. to all 
which we may bend the " knee," but — " all more is merit's 
due :" and " merit's" alone. ' 

" But what (says the poet) this sun of heaven ? 
This bliss supreme of the supremely blest ? 
Death, only death, the question can resolve." 
[Why, then attempt to describe it?] 

The means of attaining these he shews in the regulation and 
restriction of ambition, love of gain, &c, saying, 

" To doat on aught may leave us, or be left, 
Is that ambition 1 then let flames descend, 
Point to the centre their inverted spires, 
And learn humiliation from a soul 
That boasts her lineage from celestial fire." 

[A little confusion of ideas here, perhaps ; but however — 

" Yet these are they the world pronounces wise ; 
The world, which cancels Nature's right and wrong, 
And casts new wisdom ; even the grave man lends 
His solemn face, to countenance the coin : 
Wisdom for parts is madness for the whole." &c. &c. 

This, however, is sufficiently intelligible ; in what preceded 
it, the poet, perhaps, meant to imitate the confusion of worldly 
estimation, by his way of describing it. Imagination is well 
fitted for that. What follows will probabl also be understood 
and admitted : 

e 2 



52 EXTRACTS FROM 

" Nothing can make it less than mad in man, 
To put forth all his ardour, all his art, 
And give his soul her full unbounded flight ; 
But reaching Him, who gave her wings to fly." 

Nor, perhaps, would any other object excite such efforts as 
these ; all others would fail to satisfy : this would not, because 
the incentive and the hope of satisfaction would remain to the 
last, and would be an earnest of future satisfaction and reward. 

In the pursuit of any other object, 

" We glory grasp, and sink in infamy." 

After thus describing ambition, and justly, if it is not in- 
dulged to any useful purpose, he shews that alike is the pur- 
suit of gain. He asks Lorenzo, 

" Where thy true treasure ? gold says, ' not in me ;' 
And ' not in me,' the diamond — gold is poor ; 
India's insolvent" 

[Surely for the payment of the price of true happiness.] 

" Seek it in thyself; 
Seek in thy naked self, and find it there ; 
In being so descended, form'd, endow'd," 

" Quod petis, in te est ; 
Animus tibi si non deficit sequus." 

Reason says this ; Christianity enforces it. 
Dwelling on these powers in man, and saying that 

" Like Milton's Eve, when gazing on the lake, 
Man makes the matchless image man admires." 

He is surely right, if man is " the image of his Maker," in 
the qualities he possesses, and perhaps in the exhibition of 



young's night thoughts. 53 

them, in the " human face divine :" for can our ideas of ex- 
pression rise higher ? 

" Thee, beauty, thee 
The regal dome, and thy enlivening ray, 
The mossy roofs adore ; thou, better sun ! 
For ever beamest on the enchanted heart 
Love, and harmonious wonder, and delight 
Poetic, brightest progeny of heaven !" &c. — (Akenside.) 

So meet congenial minds. 

But this external beauty must only be the " visible sign" 
of an internal and spiritual beauty. Of — 

" Virtue, our present peace, our future prize." 

And Akenside also says, 

" Mind, mind alone, bear witness, earth and heaven ! 
The living fountains in itself contains 
Of beauteous and sublime." &c. &c. 

By the " endowments" which Young had spoken of, as 
attached to the mind of man under his human form, being 
together — 

" Erect, immortal, rational, divine !" 

he doubtless means religion (so graciously imparted to us by 
the Gospel of Christ), wisdom, and virtue, the humanisers, as 
their opposites are the brutalisers, of our species. He shows 
the little comparative value or importance of worldly objects. 
In the enjoyment of those of nature, however, he allows that 

" Our senses, as our reason, are divine." 

as they surely are ; for through their " magic organs" our 
feeling and our reason are excited, expanded, and exalted. 
But for the operation of both, 



54 EXTRACTS FROM 

" Earth were a rude, uncoloured chaos still," 
They (the senses) 

/ ** Give taste to fruits, and harmony to groves, 
Their radiant beams to gold, and gold's bright sire," 
[The sun.] 

" Take in, at once, the landscape of the world, 
At a small inlet, which a grain might close, 
And half create the wondrous world they see." 

Here again we are reminded of Akenside's animated and 
beautiful description of the pleasure which natural objects 
give us, of which, after asking from whence it is derived, 
he says, 

" Whence but from thee, 
O source divine of ever-flowing love, 
And thy unmeasur'd goodness ? Not content 
With every food of life to nourish man, 
By kind illusions of the wond'ring sense, 
Thou mak'st all nature beauty to his eye, 
Or music to his ear ; well-pleas'd he scans 
The goodly prospect, and with inward smiles 
Treads the gay verdure of the painted plain ; 
Beholds the azure canopy of heaven, 
And living lamps that over-arch his head 
With more than regal splendour ; bends his ear 
To the full choir of water, air, and earth ; 
Nor heeds the pleasing error of his thought, 
Nor doubts the painted green, or azure arch, 
Nor questions more the music's mingling sounds, 
Than space, or motion, or eternal time : 
So sweet he feels their influence to attract 



YOUNG S NIGHT THOUGHTS. 55 

The fixed soul ; to brighten the dull glooms 
Of care, and make the destin'd road of life 
Delightful to his feet." 

We can feel more than we can express; and we can ex- 
press what, it is to be feared, we do but imperfectly feel ; as 
when we speak of the goodness of God. Poetry may awaken, 
if it will not keep up, our feelings. And again, 

" Ask the swain, 
Who journeys homeward from a summer day's 
Long labour, why, forgetful of his toils 
And due repose, he loiters to behold 
The sunshine gleaming, as through amber clouds, 
O'er all the western sky ? Full soon, I ween, 
His rude expression, and untutor'd airs, 
Beyond the power of language, will unfold 
The form of beauty smiling at his heart, 
How lovely ! how commanding !" &c. &c. 

What observer of " his kind" has not seen this exemplified ? 

The " swain's untutor'd airs," the " music's mingling 
sounds,' 5 when heard " in the full choir of water, air, and 
earth," may be considered as an expression of praise and 
thanksgiving, involuntary in the swain, instinctive in animals. 
They have their best effect in a space so open or enclosed, as 
the loudness and nature of the music requires. Thus the song 
of the blackbird is heard farther, and is more pleasing when 
so heard, than the less sonorous song of the thrush, and so of 
other birds and animals ; for even the braying of an ass is not 
altogether unpleasing, when heard at a sufficient distance, and 
properly placed. So of domestic animals, most of which have 
what may be called a domestic sound, as the " come back" of 
the Guinea-fowl (gallina), &c. The least agreeable (to say 
no more) is the cry of the peacock, which is said to foretel 



56 EXTRACTS FROM 

weather as disagreeable as itself. But in the fields, woods, 
and groves, &c. all the sounds, " harsh and discordant" as 
they may be when " heard alone," contribute to 

" Aid the full concert, while the stockdove breathes 
A melancholy murmur through the whole." 

The nightingale is best heard in the silence of the groves or 
on her favourite thorn, which better suit the deep and " me- 
lancholy," but " musical" guttural sound of her notes, her 
loud whistle sometimes intervening, all which is not a " mise- 
rable carmen," as Virgil mistakenly calls it, but an expres- 
sion of praise and gratulation to the great Creator. This is 
all vocality. The sound of stringed instruments requires the 
confinement and reverberation of walls to make it heard and 
relished, and the more powerful sounds of the flute, hautboy, 
clarionet, French horn, trumpet, &c. must be tempered, ex- 
cept when principal, accordingly. Wind instruments, indeed, 
are generally better suited to the open air, as the vocality of 
animal utterance is. The organ is best adapted to a vaulted 
church, in which it, as Gray says, 

" Swells the note of praise." 
Or as Milton, 

" And in sweetness, through our ears, 

Dissolves us into exstacies, 

And brings all heaven before our eyes." 

Thus is a concert variously produced, which, after all, ex- 
cept in sacred music, that of Handel particularly, is inferior 
in the pleasure it gives to that which nature, with the asso- 
ciation of ideas, objects, and feelings, affords. Nature, lively 
but chaste goddess, never intended that her choristers should 
be shut up in cages or in a room, nor her beautiful flowers 
exhibited (the daisy, ranunculus, lychnis, veronica, cowslip, 
&c.) in pots in a garden. These objects are what the fastidious 



young's night thoughts. 57 

and blunted taste (or no taste) of man despises or overlooks, 
secretly as they may affect him, from his familiarity with them. 

The perception of the " music's mingling sounds," is pro- 
duced by the combination of the organs of the animal (or in- 
strument) with the medium (the air) through which it acts 
upon the ear : and the same instrumentality probably takes 
place, by different means, in other sensible objects. Colours 
are made visible by the refraction or combination of the rays 
of light, united in white, compounded or darkened in black. 
Taste and smell are probably too subtle to be analyzed. All 
this is effected by the power which thus manifests itself for the 
" glory" of Him who possesses it, and for the enjoyments of 
his creature man, and perhaps for still higher orders of beings, 
as the degrees of perception may be infinite. These sources 
of enjoyment our blessed Saviour seems to have alluded to, 
when he said, " Consider the lilies of the field," &c. by which 
he meant the general garden of Nature, and her productions. 
For what can art produce in competition with (I do not say in 
the improvement of, for that is a stimulus to human industry) 
these ? But even all these improvements, in the multiplication 
of the leaves, or the enlargement of the flowers, leaves them 
inferior in beauty to the more vivid colours and more elegant 
forms of the wild plants. 

All these demonstrate the power, as well as the goodness of 
God. Both are in proportion to his other attributes. What 
is Almighty Power ? Fiat, et fit. "Let there be light ; and 
light was." What, velocity of effect ? See (for you cannot 
follow it) what the lightning has done. What, that of motion ? 
Consider the earth, moving at the rate of 68,000 miles in an 
hour, and 1 9 miles in a moment, and yet being five minutes 
in moving the space of its own diameter. Is this quick or 
slow, thou comparative judge ? What is extension ? measure 
infinity. What, duration ? calculate eternity. What is time 
itself ? in itself nothing ; in prospect, ages ; in retrospect, a 
moment. What is force ? an impelling or resisting power. 



58 EXTRACTS FROM 

What, when graduated ? preservation. When not ? destruc- 
tion. See then what God can do; and see what he does. 
Fear Him for the one ; love Him for the other. 

In turning over the pages of Young and Akenside, we find 
the same sublimity and ardour of thought and expression in 
both, mixed indeed with more severity, and what may be 
called gloom, at least by the "■ sons of earth," to whom they 
address themselves, in the former than the latter, whose ob- 
jects, sublime as he is, are less elevated. Both, however, are 
sublime ; Akenside's effusions, though sometimes protracted, 
are always beautiful ; and if Young's text is sometimes ob- 
scure, the context will generally make it clear. I am inclined, 
however, to think that a secret dislike will now and then in- 
dispose us from endeavouring to penetrate through his ob- 
scurity, though if we did, the perforation made by it might 
make a hole for our consciences to creep out at, in applying 
his censures to ourselves. 

Young goes on, like Akenside, to say, 

" What wealth in senses such as these ! what wealth 

In fancy, fir'd to form a fairer scene 

Than sense surveys, in memory's firm record, 

Which, should it perish, could this world recal 

From the dark shadows of o'erwhelming years ! 

In colours fresh, originally bright, 

Preserve its portrait, and report its fate ! 

What wealth in intellect, that sovereign power, 

Which sense and fancy summons to the bar, 

Interrogates, approves, or reprehends. 

* * * ■* » 

What wealth in faculties of endless growth, 
In quenchless passions violent to crave, 
[Of which curiosity is the first.] 

In liberty to choose, in power to reach, 
6 



59 

And in duration (how thy riches rise !) 
Duration to perpetuate — boundless bliss ! 
Ask you, what power resides in feeble man 
That bliss to gain ? Is virtue's then unknown ? 
Virtue, our present peace, our future prize, 
Man's unprecarious, natural estate, 
Improvable at will, in virtue lies ; 
Its tenure sure ; its income is divine." 

With this he compares the folly of 

" High-built abundance ! heap on heap ! for what? 
To breed new wants, and beggar us the more ; 
Then make a richer scramble for the throng." 

Instead of this, he says, 

" A competence is all we can enjoy ; 

O be content, when heaven can give no more !" &c. &c. 

" How few can rescue opulence from want ! 

Who lives to nature, never can be poor ; 

Who lives to fancy, never can be rich. 

Poor is the man in debt : the man of gold, 1 ^ 

In debt to fortune, trembles at her power." } 

For, " riches make themselves wings and fly away :" and 
the " man of gold," generally either lavishes it on his plea- 
sures, or lays it out in expensive projects, that keep him poor, 
with the expectation of being rich. How few spend it in 
doing real good ! 

" Cur eget indignus quisquam, te divite ?" &c. &c. 

All this, and what follows, is as true as it is well expressed ; 
but I fear difficult to be practised, such are our mistaken 
views. The poet, however, endeavours to direct them right 
by adding, 



60 EXTRACTS FROM 

" Immortal ! ages past, yet nothing gone ! 
Morn without eve ! a race without a goal ! 
Unshorten'd by progression infinite ! 
Futurity for ever future ! life 
Beginning still where computation ends ! 
'Tis a description of a Deity ! 
'Tis the description of the meanest slave : 
The meanest slave dares then Lorenzo scorn ? 
The meanest slave thy sovereign glory shares." 
[For all are equal in the sight of God.] 

" Proud youth ! fastidious of the lower world ; 
Man's lawful pride includes humility, 
Stoops to the lowest ; is too great to find 
Inferiors ; all immortal ! brothers all ! 
Proprietors eternal of thy love." 

How true and forcible is all this ? And how does his de- 
scription of immortality make the heart 

" Tremble at so strange a bliss !" 

Surely, there is nothing obscure in all this. Where, indeed, 
the subject is itself obscure (as immortality must be), we 
cannot expect a clear definition of it; it is a field for the 
imagination to rove and to lose itself in ; but it can look back, 
as well as about it, and compare the ra otcigo), the to 7rapov, 
and the ra ttdo* It can imagine some of the privileges given 
to souls celestial, souls ordained to breathe 

" Ambrosial gales, and drink a purer sky." 

It can say, 
" O vain, vain, vain all else ! eternity ! 
A glorious and a needful refuge that 

* The past, the present, and the future. 



young's night thoughts. 61 

From vile imprisonment, in abject views. 
'Tis immortality, 'tis that alone, 
Amid life's pains, abasements, emptiness, 
The soul can comfort, elevate, and fill. 
That only, and that amply, this performs ; 
Lifts us above life's pains, her joys above : 
Their terror those, and these their lustre lose. 
Eternity depending, covers all : 
Eternity depending, all achieves." 

In the just expectation of those who can justly depend upon 
its happiness. It cannot, however, make us lose sight of pre- 
sent objects, nor much lessen our attachment to them; they 
constitute our present enjoyment here, and that enjoyment is 
of the more importance, as on the regulation of it depends our 
fate in eternity. That can only " cover all," when it is begun. 
Here, indeed, our virtues or our vices may anticipate the re- 
ception that we shall meet with in it. 

No two things can differ more from each other than time } 
and eternity. Time is fleeting, and its existence dependent on 
the continuance and succession of motions and events, .. its » 
quickness or slowness being determined by these, and by the 
estimation of those who are affected by them, as Shakspeare 
well observes. When we look back on time, it appears short 
indeed ; when forward or to the present, it appears short or 
long, according to the state of our mind or body. If we have 
to hope from futurity, the object of our hopes, which may be 
death itself, seems slow in its approach; if to fear, quick. 
Time, if marked by events, may be measured ; if not, it will 
appear even to those who are in a state of quiet, quick to those 
who are in a state of enjoyment, and slow to those who want 
to have something to employ their thoughts about, and who 
therefore seek to beguile or while away their time, not knowing 
or not caring how to " use it." Eternity, on the contrary, is 
fixed and permanent, having neither a progressive nor revo- 



62 EXTRACTS FROM 

lutionary movement; it is, as the schoolmen define it, a 
" punctum stans," an eternal now j what it now is, it will ever 
be,* though the state of things may change in it, which will 
bring it back to time, as furnishing an aera. But whether this 
will take place or not, we cannot know, nor consequently 
whether the state of those who suffer punishment in it, will 
undergo the change which such an sera might produce, the 
previous state being a sort of purgatory. That of the blessed 
surely will not, unless it is " a rise in bliss." If we look 
forward to having many things to do in our present state, we 
may be discouraged by their number or magnitude ; if back- 
ward, when we have done them, we may be agreeably sur- 
prised at the ease and quickness of their performance, and 
this may encourage, as the first may excite us, to future ex- 
ertions, juvante Deo. 
Young says that 

" Earth, and all that earthly minds admire, 
Is swallow'd in eternity's vast round ;" 

but I know not whether eternity can be said to be a round, 
unless it is that of an unbounded circle, whose centre has 
been said to be every where, and its circumference no where. 
But this is a play upon words, for a centre supposes a circum- 
ference, or a multiplicity of centres, a multiplicity of circles. 
But in eternity there can be no round, unless as it figures 
neither beginning nor ending, as in the typical snake of the 
ancients ; and revolutions would bring it back to time. 
Still pursuing his subject, the poet says, 

" Fortune's dread frowns, and fascinating smiles, 
Make one promiscuous and neglected heap, 
The man beneath, if I may call him man, 
Whom immortality's full force inspires." 

* As we say in the Doxology, " as it was in the beginning-, is now, 
and ever shall be, world without end." 



young's night thoughts. 63 

No, indeed, I think you cannot ; man ceases to be man 
when he is something higher ; he then knows the force as 
, well as the value of immortality. 

He then knows, or will know, what it is 

" To lay hold 
By more than feeble faith on the Supreme, 
Whom he will see, as he himself is seen." 

But, however "the poet's eye" maybe " in a fine frenzy 
rolling," he goes on to say, 

" Enthusiastic this ? then all are weak, 
But rank enthusiasts : to this godlike height 
Some souls have soar'd, or martyrs ne'er had bled, 
And all may do, what has by man been done." 

By those who have the same assistance that the martyrs 
had. Men's passions may do much, but not so much, nor in 
so many instances, as in those of the primitive martyrs. Their 
" blood" was indeed the " semen ecclesiae." A semen that 
will bear eternal fruits, which, nor " hell's gates," nor the 
" sharp scythes of time, shall ere destroy." 

Animated by these thoughts, the poet says, 

" Her own immense appointments to compute, 
Or comprehend her high prerogatives, 
In this her dark minority, how toils, 
How vainly pants the human soul divine ! 
Too great the bounty seems for earthly joy : 
What heart but trembles at so strange a bliss !" 

A bliss that we are accordingly told has never " entered 
into the heart of man to conceive." Sufficient, however, is it 
for us to know that it will be bliss to those who shall be judged 
worthy of it. " Happiness is happiness." Our best feelings 



G4 EXTRACTS FROM 

here anticipate that enjoyment, but with the " fear and trem- 
bling" with which we are to " work out our salvation." 

" How great the bounty which by mercy's given ! 
Those, who wTap the world so close about them, 
They see no farther than the clouds." 

and still less those (still more amazing ! ) 

" Who resist 
The rising thought, who smother in its birth, 
The glorious truth, who struggle to be brutes :" 

will either anticipate, or endeavour to " work out" their way 
to the happiness of a spiritual existence. 
But, says the poet, 

" To contradict them, see all nature rise ! 

What object, what event, the moon beneath, 

But argues, or endears, an after-scene ? 

To reason proves, or weds it to desire ? 

All things proclaim it needful, some advance 

One precious step beyond, and prove it sure!" 

With this persuasion, founded on the authority of the 
Gospel, he thus addresses our common Father, 

" Thou ! whose all-providential eye surveys, 

Whose hand directs, whose Spirit fills and warms 

Creation, and holds empire far beyond ! 

Eternity's inhabitant august ! 

Of two eternities amazing Lord ! 

One past, ere man's or angel's had begun ; 

Aid ! while I rescue from the foe's assault 

Thy glorious immortality in man. 

A theme for ever, and for all of weight, 



young's night thoughts. 65 

Of moment infinite ! but relish'd most 

By those who love thee most, who most adore." 

To effect this rescue, he appeals to nature, 

" The daughter and the ever-changing birth 
Of Him, the great Immutable, to man 
Who wisdom speaks." 

In the changes of the seasons and their produce. These, 
he observes, are revolutionary, as the course of life is pro- 
gressive. 

" Nature revolves, but man advances, both 
Eternal, that a circle, this a line. 
That graduates, this soars ; the aspiring soul, 
Ardent and tremulous, like flame, ascends ; 
Zeal and humility her wings to heaven." 

As therefore matter, with all its changes, lias a continued 
existence, he infers that the spirit of man shall have the same, 
in aeternum. He asks, 

" Matter immortal ? and shall spirit die ? 
Above the nobler shall less noble rise ? 
Shall man alone, for whom all else revives, \ 
No resurrection know ?" &c. &c. 

All cannot be annihilated, for then God's power could not 
be exercised, except in the creation of something out of no- 
thing, and the scholiasts say, " Ex nihilo nihil fit." And can 
we suppose that his power will rise above itself? No, its 
greatest exertion will surely be shown in the eternal endurance 
of spirit, as well as its greatest justice and benevolence in its 
destinations. 

Subordinate spirits are probably an emanation from the 
Supreme, of whom, in their purest state, they are " the image." 



66 EXTRACTS FROM 

And Akenside well says, 

" Mind, mind alone, bear witness earth and heaven ! 
The living fountains in itself contains 
Of beauteous and sublime." &c. &c. 

God is a spirit ; He is the " first perfect, first fair ;" and 
souls mil be made like unto Him, which even here reflect 
" His image." 

Assured of this, the poet goes on to say, 

" If so decreed, the Almighty will be done. 
Let earth dissolve, yon ponderous orbs descend, 
And grind us into dust ; the soul is safe ; 
The man emerges ; mounts above the wreck, 
As towering flame from nature's funeral pyre." 
[Beautiful metaphor.] 

" O'er devastation, as a gainer, smiles ; 

His charter, his inviolable rights, 

Well pleas'd to learn from thunder's impotence, 

Death's pointless darts, and hell's defeated storms." 

This is indeed a " lofty style," and if Horace's 

*' Justum et tenacem propositi virum 
***** 

Si fractus illabatur orbis, 
Impavidum ferient ruinae," 

may be put in competition with it, the picture which Young 
draws, is far superior in its representation of the soul's aspira- 
tion after, and certain assurance of, immediate happiness. 
Horace, indeed, seems to aim at the separation of matter and 
spirit ; but he had no authority for making his " divinse par- 
ticula aui'ae" ascend to the heights from which it came. Reve- 



young's night thoughts. 67 

lation had not thrown its light on the "dark" transmissions 
of his " glass." 

Seeing, or rather supposing, that Lorenzo is not " touched" 
by these "chimeras" (as he would call them), the poet makes 
an effort to reach his heart, by a magnificent detail of the 
" monuments of genius, spirit, and power," that the various 
works of man, and his exploits by sea and land, the exertions 
of his talents, exhibit on the face of the earth ; after which, 
he says, 

" And now, Lorenzo, raptur'd at this scene, 
Whose glories render heaven superfluous," 
[We must pardon this poetical licence.] 

" Say, 
Whose footsteps these ? immortals have been here. 
Could less than souls immortal this have done ? 
Earth's cover'd o'er with proofs of souls immortal, 
And proofs of immortality forgot." 

[By vain, unthinking, and consequently unfeeling mortals.] 

" To flatter thy grand foible, I confess 
These are ambition's works, and these are great ; 
But these the least immortal souls can do ; 
Transcend them all. — But what can these transcend ? 
Do'st ask me what ? — one sigh for the distrest. 
What then for infidels ? — a deeper sigh. 
'Tis moral grandeur makes the mighty man, 
How little they, who think aught great below ! 
All our ambitions death defeats, but one : 
And that it crowns. — Here cease we ; but ere long, 
More powerful proof shall take the field against thee, 
Stronger than death, and smiling at the tomb." 
f 2 



68 EXTRACTS PROM 

Well aware of the "proofs" that still remained to be given, 
which he does in the next and the succeeding " Nights/' the 
poet leaves Lorenzo, and his fellow-infidels (alas, how many !) 
in all the hardness of their unbelief, hoping to reach the feel- 
ings, of some of them at least, by the strong moral wisdom 
that attends the promulgation of the gospel, and evinces the 
truth of its doctrines. These are certainly exempt from all 
the imputations that can be charged to the passions of men, 
and must proceed only from the attributes of that Being, of 
whom the best qualities of man make him " the image." 
Moral evidence then, supported as it is by historical, is the 
great voucher for the truth of Christianity; moral evidence 
which is addressed both to the reason and the feelings, the 
absence or perversion of both which can alone make us un- 
touched by it. Rash then, to say the least, are those who 
endeavour to lower the effect of both, in lowering the sub- 
limity of the doctrines to which both are called upon to assent. 
If our reason cannot comprehend them, nor perhaps perfectly 
accord with some of them ; if our doubts keep us in suspense, 
let us be content with remaining in that suspense, and let us 
not vainly attempt to put an end to it by substituting the pre- 
sumptuous decisions of our reason (for if pride is one of the 
bad qualities of man, surely his reason may be tainted by it), 
unequal as it is to save us from a trial which we are meant to 
undergo. Let us rather save ourselves from the additional, 
and I think the severer pain, that our presumption must give 
us in the sense of it, which all our vanity will afford us but a 
" flattering unction" for. Let us remember that if " Hu- 
manum est errare et nescire," humanum est peccare too : let 
us humiliate ourselves before the throne of Him who alone is 
" good," and the example of Him who was, but would not 
acknowledge himself to be so ; let us hope for the mercy to 
which that humiliation, and a consequent conduct and de- 
meanour will entitle us (for so he has declared), and let us 



young's night thoughts. 69 

end with saying, " Lord, I believe, help thou mine un- 
belief." 

To what I have said in comparing Young and Akenside, I 
would add, that the object of the latter is to qualify his readers 
for the rational and moral enjoyment of this life ; and the 
superior one of the other, to prepare them for the next ; for 
which he depreciates, perhaps too much, the enjoyments of 
this ; of which, however, he allows us to take a moderate 
share, and a more ample one of the beauties of nature, making 
it subservient to the more important observance of our reli- 
gious and social duties ; and his attention to the former makes 
him consider all the business of life as of no value, unless it 
contributes to the eternal welfare of our souls. This, indeed, 
is true in regard to us all, and particularly as a consolation 
to the unfortunate. This is all that Young requires, severe 
as he is to the " Lorenzos" of his or any other time, for he 
writes not thus severely for those who are " well" (if such 
there be), " but for those who are (morally) sick." The well 
may read him with pleasure, and the sick with profit, which, 
indeed, may be common to both, if they are capable of it ; 
and what soul wants not a " physician ?" 

Much of Akenside's poem is addressed to the " imagination, 
the pleasures of which" it treats of, and with the flowers of 
which both the poems are plentifully, and often agreeably, 
sprinkled. Both are moral, but not equally religious, as 
perhaps might be expected from the different professions of 
the authors. Both, however, express a high reverence for the 
supreme object of our worship, but of Christianity, on which 
Young lays so much stress, we find no mention in Akenside. 
His object is natural, Young's revealed religion; but moral 
duties are recommended by both. Akenside endeavours to 
win us, Young to awe us into the performance of them ; but 
the exhortations of the former are defective in omitting the 
great model of them and of piety, Jesus Christ, without whose 
example all exhortation would be of little avail, for we should 



70 EXTRACTS FROM 

want our greatest incentive in the life lie lived, and the pro- 
mises he made, and died and rose again to confirm, without 
which latter, St. Paul well says, that " our faith, and his 
preaching, would be vain." In him was united all excellence, 
human and divine, themselves being so nearly allied. The 
former is the chief object of Akenside's praise, which he be- 
stows on the examples of it, both in public and private life, 
contrasting the heroic exhibitions of the one with the " mild 
majesty" of the other. For this he exerts all the powers of 
his imagination, but with less energy, but perhaps more elo- 
quence than Young does, in dwelling upon his far more im- 
portant subject, for the flight of " three" or four " score 
years," when " life is but labour and sorrow," (let me be 
thankful that it is very partially so to me), is not to be com- 
pared with the steady duration of eternity ; if of a happy one, 
how great the difference ! 

I have spoken, in p. 43, of the benefits which may be ex- 
pected from the provisions of the reform bill ; and to this I 
will add, that I think it will tend to make every one sensible 
of what he owes to himself and his country, which include 
what he owes to his God also ; for I strongly suspect that the 
repugnance which many of us feel (some who ought to enter- 
tain better sentiments) to such a reform, arises in a great 
measure from a desire, of which we may be ourselves uncon- 
scious, to indulge ourselves in our usual habits of ease and in- 
dolence (the natural suggesters of "let well alone"), of which, 
indeed, many examples may be seen, as well in private families 
as in the general family of the country, at the head of which 
is the Deity whom we ought to serve, instead of our own 
voluptuous, or at best, self-indulgent propensities ; selfish 
ambition, the desire of power, and sometimes personal par- 
tialities ; for the maxim, " Amicus Cato, sed magis arnica 
Veritas," is not always adhered to. The correction of all these 
should be one great object of any general reform, or of national 
education, and all is surely comprehended in the plans of re- 



young's night thoughts. 71 

form intended or begun upon, not less in private families, 
where the servants are often idle in proportion to their num- 
bers, than in the great family of the country. 



NIGHT THE SEVENTH. 

In this his promise is amply fulfilled. Invigorated by his 
subject, and confident of the truth of what he asserts, he says, 

" Man but dives in death ; 
Dives from the sun, in fairer day to rise ; 
The grave, his subterranean road to bliss." 

Having before shown the high probability of this resur- 
rection, by its analogy with the general order and course of 
things, he brings another proof of it, in the common feelings 
of humanity : he says, 

" Who reads his bosom, reads immortal life, 
Or nature there, imposing on her sons, 
Has written fables ; man was made a lie. 
Why discontent for ever harbour'd there ? 
Incurable consumption of our peace ! 
Resolve me, why the. cottager and king, 
He whom sea-sever'd realms obey, and he 
Who steals his whole dominion from the waste, 
Repelling winter-blasts with mud and straw, 
Disquieted alike, draw sigh for sigh, 
In fate so distant, in complaint so near ?" 

The ennuis of life are the stimulants to action ; the desire 
of repose is the check to them ; the desire of eternal repose, 



%2 EXTRACTS FROM 

and of the happiness promised with it, is the proper regulator 
both of the desire of action and of rest in this life. Thus do 
our passions and feelings alternately act upon each other, if 
regulated, for our eternal benefit. 
Pope says, 

" Mourn our different fortunes as we please, 
Equal is common sense, and common ease." 

Which is partly made up by habit (" second nature as it is") 
giving a more uninterrupted content to the cottager than the 
king, who sometimes pays dearly for his enjoyments. But 
both must look up to the " King of kings" for their comfort 
and support. Thus is Providence just to all, in showing that 

" If to all men happiness was meant, 
God in externals could not place content." 

Nor has he, in a state which admits of nothing more, and 
even that dependent on the ' ' patience and resignation" (the 
" pillars" both of high and low life) with which we bear the 
trials we are subject to, one of which is the impossibility of 
our attaining " our being's end and aim" here, the happiness 
reserved for those on whom the justice and " mercy" of God 
will bestow it hereafter, through the merits and mediation of 
Christ ; and such a reserve may well be made of what we can 
have no conception of. The " peace which this world cannot 
give" will be given in another, where the " sigh" after hap- 
piness will be changed for that degree of it that we are capable 
and deserving (in some degree demonstrated by the mere hope 
of it) of the possession of. Where mercy is implored, if sin- 
cerely, mercy will surely be shown; and "the sins that were 
as scarlet will be made white as snow." When the " mercy 
which reacheth unto the heavens" will receive us there, what 
can the hardened sinner expect who will not implore and 
endeavour to merit it ? Bold as it may be thought, Young 
has not gone too far in saying, 



young's night thoughts. 73 

"'A God all mercy, is a God unjust." 

For a perfect Being must be so in all his attributes, one of 
which, is justice, indulgent as we may wish him to be to " the 
devices and desires of our hearts/' Our very virtues may 
presume too much upon the regard we expect from him. That 
regard will be in proportion to the obedience we pay to his 
commandments, and not to the estimation we make of those 
virtues, " shining sins," as they may sometimes be ; for what 
else is vanity ? 

Young goes on to compare the state of beasts with that of 
man ; he says, 

" Is it that things terrestrial can't content ? 

Deep in rich pasture, will thy flocks complain ? 

Not so ; but to their master is deny'd 

To share their sweet serene ; man, ill at ease, 

In this, not his own place, this foreign field, 

Where nature fodders him with other food 

Than was ordain'd his cravings to suffice, 

Poor in abundance, famish'd at a feast, 

Sighs on for something more, when most enjoy'd. 

Is heaven then kinder to thy flocks than thee ? 

Not so ; thy pasture richer, but remote ; 

In part remote ; for that remoter part 

Man bleats from instinct, though perhaps, debauch'd 

By sense, his reason sleeps, nor dreams the cause. 

The cause how obvious, when his reason wakes ! 

His grief is but his grandeur in disguise ; 

And discontent is immortality." 

Yea ; for we should not be discontented with our present 
state, if we did not look forward to a better, which we are en- 
couraged to expect. A feeling so sanctioned must be founded 
in truth. 



74 EXTRACTS FROM 

" Shall sons of aether, shall the blood of heaven, 
Set up their hopes on earth, and stable here, 
With brutal acquiescence in the mire 1 
Lorenzo ! no ! they shall be nobly pain'd ; 
The glorious foreigners, distrest, shall sigh 
On thrones, and thou congratulate the sigh ; 
Man's misery declares him born for bliss. 
His anxious heart asserts the truth I sing, 
And gives the sceptic in his head the lie." 

This may appear to be a high-flown and unnecessary way 
of accounting for the taedium vitae that sometimes attends the 
passage through life, at times more or less ; and it may pro- 
ceed from different causes, and require different remedies ; but 
it surely indicates a want of happiness, " our being's end and 
aim ;" if this is not to be completely attained here, where can 
it but in another state of existence ? for that, therefore, it is 
reserved, when not forfeited in our trial here, by our having 
recourse to improper means of attaining happiness, for that is 
the secret object of all our exertions, of whatever kind they 
are. Young therefore truly says, 

" Our heads, our hearts, our passions, and our powers, 
Speak the same language, call us to the skies." 

As is proved by the beautiful lines that follow. Indeed the 
whole poem is a train of irrefragable arguments. Were not 
the enjoyments of this life so insufficient to satisfy the desires 
of man, their short duration would make him sigh (and still 
deeper, if they were sufficient) for a longer. This life then is 
shortened to make us look forward to another in eternity. 
With this regard the poet says, 

" Since virtue's recompence is doubtful here, 
If man dies wholly, well may we demand, 



YOUNGS NIGHT THOUGHTS. 75 

Why is man suffer'd to be good in vain ? 

Why to be good in vain is man enjoin'd ? 

Why to be good in vain is man betray'd ? 

Betray 'd by traitors lodged in his own breast, 

By sweet complacencies from virtue felt?" &c. &c. 

And he asks, 

" Why is man wise to know, and warm to praise, 
And strenuous to transcribe, in human life, 
The mind almighty ? can it be, that fate, 
Just when the lineaments begin to shine, 
And dawn the Deity, shall snatch the draught, 
With night eternal blot it out, and give 
The skies alarm, lest angels too may die ?" 

For, 

" If human souls, why not angelic too 

Extinguished ? and a solitary God, 

O'er ghastly ruin, frowning from his throne ?" 

After mentioning some of the ills of life, he asks, 

" In future age lies no redress ? and shuts 
Eternity the door on our complaint ? 
If so, for what strange ends were mortals made ? 
The worst to wallow, and the best to weep : 
The man who merits most, must most complain ; 
Can we conceive a disregard in heaven 
What the worst perpetrate, or best endure ? 
This cannot be," &c. &c. 

After a strong " demonstration" of this, and a beautiful 
contrast of man with brutes, though still unable to subdue the 



76 EXTRACTS FROM 

"stubborn heart" of Lorenzo, he endeavours to "introduce him 
to himself," and brings in ambition, pleasure, and the love of 
gain (the favourite objects of a Lorenzo), as witnesses against 
him — instancing Caesar, Xerxes, &c. — the love of praise, of 
pleasure, the delicate moralities of sense, all the 

" Stratagems 
By skill divine inwoven in our frame." 

And calling upon 

" Heaven's holiness and mercy," 

Not to 

" Laugh, at once, at virtue and at man, 
For else is this discourag'd, that destroy 'd." 

Even avarice is appealed to. 

He then, in answer to Lorenzo's sophistries, and his defence 
of " abhorr'd annihilation," which the poet justly says, 

" Blasts the soul, 
And wide extends the bounds of human woe ;" 

He says, 

" Could I believe Lorenzo's system true, 

In this black channel would my ravings run." 

Which they do through several pages, in a manner only 
admissible, and even more than admissible, on the supposition 
of man's existence being confined to this life, with all the 
" high intellectual powers" which he possesses. In that case 
we might well say, 

" Sense, take the rein ; blind passion, drive us on ; 
And, ignorance, befriend us on our way ; 
Ye new, but truest patrons of our peace ! 



young's night thoughts. 77 

Yes, give the pulse full empire, live the brute, 
Since, as the brute, we die. The sum of man, 
Of godlike man ! to revel and to rot." 

The necessary admission of these conclusions, " raving," 
as the poet calls them, is in itself a strong proof of our future 
existence. 

The poet ends them with, 



Deep in the rubbish of the general wreck, 
Swept ignominious to the common mass 
Of matter never dignify'd with life, 
Here lie proud rationals I the sons of heaven, 
The lords of earth, the property of worms ! 
Beings of yesterday, and no to-morrow ! 
Who liv'd in terror, and in pangs expir'd ! 
All gone to rot in chaos ; or to make 
Their happy transit into blocks or brutes, 
Nor longer sully their Creator's name." 

All the passions, all the feelings are here appealed to, as 
testifiers of the soul's immortality, and above all, the feeling 
of hope, which, as Young says, 

" Turns us o'er to death alone for ease," 

And Pope, that it 

" Travels through, nor quits us when we die." 

If this is true, it must remain unsatisfied till our death ! 
and its continuance through life is an earnest of its future 
satisfaction, which the Christian dies assured of. 

The boldest flights of Young are surely allowable while 
they are sanctioned by the Scriptures ; and a stronger eulogy 
cannot be given, nor a higher reverence paid to the Divine 



78 EXTRACTS FROM 

ordinations, than in showing the consequences of an opposite 
system. The opposite to the perfection of good is the com- 
pletion of evil. Either God or Mammon must reign. 

He says of annihilation, that it is 

" An after-thought, 
A monstrous wish, unborn till virtue dies. 
And Oh ! what depth of horror lies enclos'd ! 
For non-existence no man ever wish'd, 
But first he wish'd the Deity destroy'd. 

Instead of this, the poet asks, 

" Say, in this rapid tide of human ruin, 

(as supposed in Lorenzo's system) 

Is there no rock, on which man's tossing thought 

(tossing indeed on such a sea) 
Can rest from terror, dare his fate survey, 
And boldly think it something to be born ?" 

(which it would not be, if we were not to be regenerated,) 
&c. &c. &c. 

He says, 

" How bright my prospect shines ? how gloomy thine ! 
A trembling world ! and a devouring God ! 
Earth but the shambles of Omnipotence ! 
Heaven's face all stain'd with causeless massacres 
Of countless millions, born to feel the pang 
Of Being lost," &c. &c. 

He says also, 
" Know'st thou the value of a soul immortal? 
Behold this midnight glory ; worlds on worlds ! 



YOUNGS NIGHT THOUGHTS. 79 

Amazing pomp ! redouble the amaze : 

Ten thousand add ; add twice ten thousand more : 

Then weigh the whole ; one soul outweighs them all ; 

And calls the astonishing magnificence 

Of unintelligent creation poor." 

(Which it is, compared to intelligence, to the " image of 
the Deity, to a being destined to survive all those worlds.") 
In proof of this the poet says, 

" In this small province of his vast domain 
(All nature bow, while I pronounce His name !) 
What has God done, and not for this sole end, 
To rescue souls from death ? the soul's high price 
Is writ in all the conduct of the skies." 

But when we make these comparisons, we should re- 
member that all size is nothing, when compared with infinity, 
of which this and all the other worlds that exist are parts, if 
we may speak of parts of an unbounded whole. The gospel 
dispensation might then as well have been expected (foretold 
too as it was) " in this small province,'' as in any other. As 
to its general effect on our minds, it has been said, and I 
believe truly said, that it would be the greatest miracle of all 
if Christianity was not true. That is, a mass of evidence 
would have been thrown away, which the able lawyer Dunning, 
who Mr. Fox said was " the most Christian profligate, and 
profligate Christian that he had known," declared " would 
be sufficient to prove the truth of any system that could be 
brought into a court of justice." What is Hume's " previous 
improbability," that can preclude such evidence ? 

He then compares the value of time with that of eternity, 
the end of time ; and says 

" All is delusion ; nature is wrapt up 

6 



80 EXTRACTS FROM 

In tenfold night, from reason's keenest eye : 

There's no consistence, meaning, plan, or end, 

In all beneath the sun, in all above, 

(As far as man can penetrate) or heaven 

Is an immense, inestimable prize ; 

Or all is nothing, or that prize is all." &c. &c. , 

This he proves by the insignificance of earthly rewards and 
punishments, compared with those of another life, and re- 
monstrates with those who disbelieve it. He says, 

" The skies above proclaim immortal man ! 
And man immortal! all below resounds. 
The world's a system of theology, 
Read by the greatest strangers to the schools : 
If honest, learn'd ; and sages o'er a plough." 

For common sense and common feeling are sufficient to 
convince us of the existence of God ; and the same faculties 
will also convince us of the truth of Christianity. Of those 
who will not believe because they cannot understand, it may 
be said, that " much learning has made them mad," in the 
extravagant value they set upon their reason, and the extent 
of its powers. But the poet does not " overrate the nature 
of man," when he says 

" Turn up thine eye, survey this midnight scene ; 
What are earth's kingdoms to yon boundless orbs, 
Of human souls, one day, the destin'd range ? 
And what yon boundless orbs, to godlike man ? 
Those numerous worlds that throng the firmament, 
And ask more space in heaven, can roll at large 
In man's capacious thought, and still leave room 
For ampler orbs ; for new creations there." 



young's night thoughts. 81 

The mind of man can form some idea of infinity; for the 
utmost conceivable bound must itself be bounded by some- 
thing beyond it, and so on, ad infinitum : but " orbs," how- 
ever ample, must find as ample room to " roll" in " heaven," 
that is, in infinity, as they can possibly have " in man's 
capacious thought." Perhaps, however, it is not easy to 
compare an idea with a substance. Must not one arise from 
the other ? Or is thought independent of existence ? I mean 
of the existence of its object; which indeed it cannot well be, 
as it is not in its power to create, however it may be to 
combine. 

Passing then to animation and rationality, the poet says, 

" Life animal is nurtur'd by the sun ; 
Thrives on his bounties, triumphs in his beams ; 
Life rational subsists on higher food, 
Triumphant in his beams, who made the day." 

The animal spirits are exhilarated by the sun. This is the 
happiness of animals. That of man consists in the effect 
which the exhilaration of the spirits, together with the ap- 
plause of the conscience, and the trust in Divine mercy, 
manifested as it is, have upon the mind. As our God will 
be thanked, so will He be intreated. 

And that rationality is surely sufficient to qualify us for the 
enjoyment of that day (sunshine) with the hope of a brighter 
day in heaven, where " the sun goes not down," &c. ; but for 
this, our religious belief is required, which must be founded on 
comprehensible evidence : the " things seen must vouch for 
the things unseen," for of the latter we can have little or no 
comprehension ; we can only judge of things by comparison ; 
and to do this, we must have a sufficient knowledge of the 
different objects of our comparisons : of mysteries (and surely 
religion is one) we can have little or no knowledge, and there- 
fore can but very imperfectly compare them with any thing 
g 



82 EXTRACTS FROM 

that we have more knowledge of; knowledge that our senses 
give us. Of ourselves we have more knowledge, but as it is 
derived from intellect, and as that is limited in us, when we 
are arrived at a certain point in our disquisitions into man's 
nature, we find our knowledge defective, and we are there- 
fore embarrassed: we have no knowledge but what has been 
given us from above, which we receive and trust to, on the 
evidence of its divine authority. We cannot know what are 
the limits of man's free agency, but we may be sure that it is 
in due proportion to his responsibility ; and this must vary as 
the degree of his intellectual powers varies, and his ability to 
resist temptation. We may be sure also that God has all the 
moral attributes that constitute perfection; of which justice 
tempered by mercy is one. That both these attributes would 
be violated by the denial of a future life I think is fully made 
out by the very powerful train of reasoning in the " black 
channel" in which Young's " ravings ran," on the supposition 
of " annihilation." 

" A nature rational implies the power 
Of being blest, or wretched, as we please ; 
Else idle reason would have nought to do ; 
And he that would be barr'd capacity 
Of pain, courts incapacity of bliss ; 

(in insensibility.) 

Heaven wills our happiness, allows our doom ; 
Invites us ardently, but not compels ; 
Heaven but persuades, almighty man decrees ; 

(almighty in being left to his own discretion.) 

Man is the maker of immortal fates. 
Man falls by man, if finally he falls ; 
And fall he must, who learns from death alone 



young's night thoughts. 83 

The dreadful secret — that he lives for ever." 

Still he urges his point to Lorenzo, in the most forcible 
manner, saying to him, 

" Still seems it strange, that thou should'st live for ever? 

Is it less strange, that thou should'st live at all ? 

This is a miracle ; and that no more. 

Who gave beginning can exclude an end. 

Deny thou art ; then doubt if thou shalt be." 
* * * * 

" What less than miracles from God can flow? 
Admit a God — that mystery supreme ! 
That cause uncaus'd ! all other wonders cease ; 
Deny him — all is mystery besides. 
Millions of mysteries ! each darker far 
Than that thy wisdom would, unwisely, shun. 
If weak thy faith, why choose the harder side? 
We nothing know, but what is marvellous ; 
Yet what is marvellous we can't believe." 

This is not exactly true, if what is said of the credulity of 
infidels is true — they " believe/' only to " tremble" — super- 
stitious, not religious, their fears. 

" Give the sceptics in their heads the lie." 

* * * * 

" So weak our reason, and so great our God, 
What most surprises in the sacred page, 
Or full as strange, or stranger, must be true : 
Faith is not reason's labour, but repose." 

The poet then exhorts Lorenzo 
" To be a man, and strive to be a God ;" 

(in being a Christian.) 



84 EXTRACTS FROM 

" ' For what' (thou say'st) ' to damp the joys of life ?' 
No — to give heart and substance to thy joys," 

Speaking of hope, 

" Rich hope of boundless bliss ! 
Bliss, past man's power to paint it, time's to close !" 

He says, 

" Hope, like a cordial, innocent, though strong, 
Man's heart, at once, inspirits and serenes, 
(as sedatives do.) 

Nor makes him pay his wisdom for his joys," &c. &c. 
[Hope, to be effectual, must be founded in reason.] 

The poet ends one of his trains of reasoning with this just, 
and not audacious conclusion, that 

*' If man's immortal, there's a God in heaven," 

For if man is not to expect immortality from a God who will 
grant what he has promised, on terms that are consistent with 
all his attributes, it signifies little to man whether he exists or 
not. That there is a God, and that man is immortal, whether 
in happiness or misery, as he deserves, are therefore corre-* 
lative truths. 

The poet then ends with, 

" A blest hereafter then, or hop'd, or gain'd, 

Is all — our whole of happiness ; full proof 

I chose no trivial or inglorious theme." 

***** 

(t If there is weight in an eternity, 

Let the grave listen ; — and be graver still," 



YOUNGS NIGHT THOUGHTS. 85 



NIGHT THE EIGHTH. 

Having enumerated the evils and errors of the world in this 
Night, he thus addresses himself to the Supreme Being. 

" O Thou ! who dost permit these ills to fall 

For gracious ends, and would'st that man should mourn ; 

O Thou, whose hands this goodly fabric fram'd, 

Who know'st it best, and would'st that man should know ! 

What is this sublunary world ? a vapour 

From the damp bed of chaos, by thy beam 

Exhal'd, ordain'd to swim its destin'd hour 

In ambient air, then melt, and disappear. 

Earth's days are number'd, nor remote her doom : 

As mortal, though less transient, than her sons ; 

Yet they^doat on her, as the world and they 

Were both eternal, solid ; Thou, a dream." 

[To those only who give their waking thoughts to the 
world.] 

The " Night Thoughts" have been called " angry and \ 
gloomy," because they show a disposition to see human follies 
and vices without sparing them in the representation, by one 
whose mind was in some degree soured by misfortunes, and 
strongly impressed with a sense of the necessity of making a 
life that must be transitory, and may be short, a " means" of 
preparing us for a life to come, which will be eternally happy 
or miserable, according to our fulfilment or neglect of the 
duties of this. What those duties are, we are told in the 
injunction given us, to " do justly, to love mercy, and to 
walk humbly with our God." These comprehend a great 
deal, especially the first, for the demands of justice are various 
and extensive. As to the idea of a " short life and a merry 



5b EXTRACTS FROM 

one/' or of " strewing over with flowers/' what is " a passage 
at best/' they are only, as Mrs. Barbauld calls them, agree- 
able nonsense, or at least, levity ; for thorns will spring up in 
the midst of these flowers, and the course of mirth will be 
interrupted by sadness, unless it is supported by a selfish in- 
sensibility, either to the joys or sorrows of our fellow-crea- 
tures, or, perhaps, by dissimulation, which will not long de- 
ceive. And this insensibility will make us as indifferent to 
the characters of others, as careless of preserving the real 
goodness of our own. That preservation can alone secure to 
us the satisfaction of " the stern monitor within us," our con- 
science, which can only be maintained by following the dictates 
of it and our reason. If we disregard both, we shall probably 
be looked upon as knaves and fools. Error is common to 
man, but a more than ordinary degree of it will deprive us of 
that general excuse for it, as it must then be a defect of the 
head or heart, or perhaps of both, and the mischief it will do 
will be in proportion to the truth of the proverb, that " one 
fool (or knave) makes many ;" so tempting are the ways of 
folly and vice to those who are apt to imitate the examples of 
whoever they associate with. This is what Young calls " the 
infection of the world," against which we must either carry 
our own antidote, or seek it in the society of those who are 
free from the poison ; and health (moral health) may be com- 
municated as well as disease. By a due regimen in the main- 
tenance of it, we shall 

" Bring back at eve, 
Immaculate, the manners of the morn." 

Nay, more, we shall add to their purity j the stains we see in 
others, we shall not be defiled with ourselves, for we shall 
have that within us, which will prevent our imbibing them, 
and favour our acquisition of the better qualities of others. 
We shall enjoy that internal sunshine, which we see and enjoy 



young's night thoughts. 87 

from without, and which gives us a foretaste of the heaven 
which will 

" Be given above, for heaven enjoy'd below." 

The poet then makes an address to the " ocean," with his 
equal display of imagination, and connects it with an appeal 
to Lorenzo's feelings, in his mention of his young " Florello," 
left him as a " care succeeding to poor Clarissa's throes," 
and as a trial how far 

" A father's heart 
Is tender, though the man's is made of stone." 

[How far he is susceptible of parental, though not of reli- 
gious feelings.] 

And he draws an interesting picture of the " heedless child," 
and of the dangers he is to undergo at his " reception into 
public life," surrounded as he will be 

" By friends eternal, during interest ; 

By foes implacable, when worth their while." 

Open as his ingenuous disposition will make him to their 
attacks ; with various other dangers that attend the course of 
his life, in which, 

" If less than heavenly virtue is his guard, 
Soon a strange kind of curst necessity 
Brings down the sterling temper of his soul, 
By base alloy, to bear the current stamp, 
Below call'd wisdom ; sinks him into safety ; 
And brands him into credit with the world, 
Where specious titles dignify disgrace, 
And nature's injuries are arts of life ; 
Where brighter reason prompts to bolder crimes ; 



88 EXTRACTS FROM 

And heavenly talents make infernal hearts ; 
That unsurmountable extreme of guilt !" 

This, with some exaggeration, is perhaps too true a descrip- 
tion of worldly practice ; for " credit" is not always founded 
upon sterling worth; but worldly "wisdom," against which, 
however, we may have a " guard," and the only sure one, in 
" heavenly virtue," a very different rule to follow from those 
of the " Machiavelian" school. And so much for the pursuits 
of ambition. Of those of pleasure, he says, 

s -" They are the purpose of my gloomy song. 
j Pleasure is nought but Virtue's gayer name ; 
/ I wrong her still, I rate her worth too low ; 

Virtue the root, and pleasure is the flower ; 

And honest Epicurus' foes were fools." 

Epicurus might be " honest," but his system was certainly 
deceptive, in placing both pleasure and virtue upon the same 
level, for he would have them both brought above ground, 
where the sweets of pleasure may soon be found to arise from 
other sources than the salutary " roots" of virtue. The former 
may court the senses, but the latter only can purify the heart. 
The former intoxicates, and at length poisons ; the latter gives 
health and vigour both to the mind and body. 

There may be a bias in a man's mind which has the same 
effect that caprice would have, by a spleen that disposes him 
to confound good and bad, in seeing every thing in an unfa- 
vourable point of view; but true wisdom consists in distin- 
guishing whatever may conduce to real good. This, Young 
seems to have constantly in his view. 

Pleasure arising from such a source, Young says, 

" Is good, and man for pleasure made, 
But pleasure full of glory, as of joy ; 



young's night thoughts. 89 

Pleasure which neither blushes nor expires." 

* * * * * 

" Pleasure first succours virtue ; in return, ; 
Virtue gives pleasure an eternal reign." 

That is, pleasure encourages virtue, as being the immediate 
consequence of it; and virtue, so encouraged, ensures the 
duration of pleasure. But pleasure often attracts at first for 
its own sake, and not through the medium of virtue, which, 
from the mistaken experiments of the world, has often more 
repulsion than attraction in it. But the attraction of pleasure 
may draw us into the gulf of perdition, when it has not the 
stay of virtue. * Piety and humanity" contribute alike to 
the happiness and the welfare of life, which are still more 
secured by 

" Piety itself; 
A soul in commerce with her God, is heaven ; 
Feels not the tumults and the shocks of life ; 
The whirls of passion, and the strokes of heart. 
A Deity believ'd, is joy begun ; 
A Deity ador'd, is joy advanc'd ; 
A Deity belov'd, is joy matur'd," &c. &c. 

For the love of perfection is the assurance of every good 
that can flow from it. 

" With piety begins all good on earth ; 
'Tis the first-born of rationality." 

The poet then says to Lorenzo, 

" Art thou dejected ? is thy mind o'ercast ? 

Amid her fair ones, thou the fairest choose 

To chase thy gloom. — Go, fix some weighty truth ; 



90 EXTRACTS FROM 

Chain down some passion, do some generous good ; 

Teach ignorance to see, or grief to smile ; 

Correct thy friend ; befriend thy greatest foe ; 

Or, with warm heart and confidence divine, 

Spring np, and lay strong hold on Him who made thee." 

[By prayer.] 

The employments that have another life in view, will always 
be a remedy for any dejection or weariness in this. 

Praising equanimity, in opposition to any excess of passion, 
the poet says, 

" Laughter, though never censur'd yet as sin/ 

(Pardon a thought that only seems severe) r 

Is half immoral ; is it much indulg'd ? 

By venting spleen, or dissipating thought, 

It shows a scorner, or it makes a fool ; 

And sins, as hurting others, with ourselves. 

'Tis pride, or emptiness, applies the straw, 

That tickles little minds to mirth effuse ; 

Of grief approaching, the portentous sign ! 

The house of laughter makes a house of woe. 

A man triumphant is a monstrous sight ; 

A man dejected is a sight as mean. 

What cause for triumph, when such ills abound ? 

What for dejection, when presides a Power, 

Who call'd us into being to be blest ? 

So grieve, as conscious grief may rise to joy ; 

So joy, as conscious joy to grief may fall. 

Most true, a wise man never will be sad ; 

But neither will sonorous, bubbling mirth 

A shallow stream of happiness betray ; 

Too happy to be sportive, he's serene." 



young's night thoughts. 91 

To promote this, Young recommends the perusal of the 
Bible. For, says he, 

" There, truths abound of sovereign aid to peace," &c. &c. 

Such equanimity is a just medium between the laughter of 
Democritus and the tears of Heraclitus. As for laughter, it 
may sometimes be useful to serve the purposes of ridicule, 
when that is deserved, as it generally carries more or less 
" scorn" with it. 

Akenside has shown how the love of ridicule influences the 
commerce between man and man, either when 

" Folly's awkward arts 
Excite impetuous laughter's gay rebuke," 

Or when 

" Opinion tells us that to die, 
Or stand the hazard, is a greater ill, 
Than to betray our country ; and in art, 
We shall prefer to be despis'd, and live ; 
Here vice begins then." 

And excites scorn and contempt, as mere folly had excited 
ridicule, whose superior force will " touch and shame" what is 

" Safe from the bar, the pulpit, and the throne." 

While its opposites, approbation and esteem, will encourage 
every thing good and laudable in society. 

He then shows what are the true sources of joy ; the first 
of which is a good conscience. This is Horace's " murus 
aheneus ;" this is what he recommends in saying, 

" iEquam memento rebus in arduis 
Servare mentem ; non secus in bonis 
Ab insolenti temperatam 
Laetitia, moriture DellL" 



92 EXTRACTS FROM 

Horace seems to give himself credit for this equanimity, 
when, speaking of Fortune, he says, 

" Laudo manentem ; si celeres quatit 
Pennas, resigno qu.se dedit, et mea 
Virtute me involvo, probamque 
Pauperiem sine dote quaero." 

But had he been tried ? 

By the by, does not the sense of our own faults or defects, 
sometimes instigate us to give advice to others, what to seek 
for, or what to avoid ? 

On this equanimity Young enlarges with all his force, in- 
genuity, and variety. As connected with this, he says, 

" Pleasure, we both agree, is man's chief good ; 
Our only contest, what deserves the name." 

He goes on to say, 

" Some joys the future overcast ; and some 

Throw all their beams that way, and gild the tomb." 

Are not these splendid pictures ? nor are they overcharged j 
for the gilding is solid. 

Young ends this series of admonitions with, 

" Short is my lesson, though my lecture long ; 
Be good — and let heaven answer for the rest." 

And it has answered — in the promises made. He, however, 
is obliged to own, that, 

" Patience and resignation are the pillars 
Of human peace on earth." 

This is certainly true, if life is a trial ; but Young may be 
a little too severe, in requiring us 

" To frown at pleasure, and to smile in pain." 



young's night thoughts. 93 

For what more did the stoics pretend to ? and could they 
always act up to their pretensions ? 

" What reason bids, God bids ; by his command, 
How aggrandis'd the smallest thing we do !" 

" When, spite of conscience, pleasure is pursu'd, 
Man's nature is unnaturally pleas'd : 
(That is, his best nature.) 

And what's unnatural, is painful too 
At intervals. 

(When conscience takes the rein.) 

Virtue's foundations with the world's were laid ; 
Heaven mixt her with our make, and twisted close 
Her sacred interests with the strings of life." 

As we may suppose the display of power and wisdom to be 
as great in the moral as in the natural world, we may also sup- 
pose all moral results to be relative to and dependent upon the 
subsisting order of things, and to be a part of the general 
economy, such as the great Creator has ordained it ; and that 
from a different order different results might have followed ; 
there would otherwise have been natural necessities inde- 
pendent on him, who is bound only by his own attributes. 
All that is wise, all that is good, must originate in Him 5 and 
" truth and good are one." Whatever may be the general 
plan established, and however it may be varied, it must have 
the seal of those attributes ; but what those varieties might be, 
or actually are, we cannot tell ; as our knowledge is partial, it 
must be relative too. All is possible that it pleases God to 
make so j we can only know what we are given by Him to 
know. 

<( Man's science is the culture of his heart," 



94 EXTRACTS FROM 

The pursuit of other knowledge is allowable enough, if pro- 
perly followed, especially as it must lead to a sense of our 
ignorance, the great advantage of which is, the conviction 
that there is a power, as well as an intelligence, which is far 
above ours. It 

" Teaches this lesson, pride is loath to learn — • 
Not deeply to discern, not much to know, 
Mankind was born to wonder, and adore." 

And that we may be fully sensible of this, he has given us 
the power, if we choose to use it, of thinking for ourselves. 

And if it is true that " Humanum est errare," the sincerity 
of the heart will atone for any mistakes or aberrations of the 
head ; and that sincerity will be fully shown in " doing justly, 
loving mercy, and walking humbly with our God." These, 
in an extended sense, may comprehend all the virtues that can 
be practised ; but that practice will require that we should be 
continually on the " watch." The two first are doubtless 
recommended to us as imitations of our Creator ; the last ap- 
pertains wholly to his imperfect and dependent creatures. 

There is a light in which mankind may be viewed, and 
which may almost indispose us from considering them as 
worthy of any future retribution. In this light Frederic of 
Prussia professed to consider them, and even as unworthy the 
regards of their Creator, if his soi-disant philosophy admitted 
of their having such an origin. Voltaire, at one time his friend 
and favourite, says, in a letter to him, that he thinks there is a 
Supreme Governor, whose power is limited ; I suppose by the 
evil spirit possessing a superior share of it. These idle and 
impious fancies fall to the ground when we consider the 
miseries which mortals are subject to, in a world where there 
would only be for " the worst to wallow, and the best to weep," 
if there were not a compensation, which all who have any 
sensibility look for, and, which even the savages have a hope, 
but the enlightened Christian a full assurance of, promised as 
6 



YOUNGS NIGHT THOUGHTS. 95 

it is by the Gospel. This at once vindicates the justice of 
God, and the reasonable expectations of his creature, man. 
This gives " heart and substance" to the best hope we can 
form, and rescues it from all imputation of delusion ; sanctions 
the confidence of the many who die full of that hope, and the 
trust in God's mercy in the minds of those who may see their 
friends die with a hope more alloyed by remorse, or even ex- 
tinguished by mental imbecility ; for what God has deprived 
them of, he may again restore, as he 

" Who gave beginning, may exclude an end." 

The last feeling of the dying Christian then is " resurgam." 
With ideas that are never exhausted, and metaphors that 

are ever at hand, the poet pursues his theme, till he sums it 

up in the description of 

" A man on earth devoted to the skies ; 

Like ships on seas, while in, above the world." 

The excellence of this description authorises him to say of 
the object of it, 

" Himself too much he prizes, to be proud ; 
And nothing thinks so great in man, as man." 

Surely, if man is " the image of God," 

" His nature no man can o'er-rate," &c. &c. 

Contrasting this with Lorenzo's estimations, and showing 
the motives that instigate the " man" he has been describing, 
he says, 

" Bliss has no being, virtue has no strength, 
But from the prospect of immortal life." 

Hovering in triumph over the fallen Lorenzo, prostrate as 
he lies in his stumblings, the poet shows him how to regain 
his lustre, by saying, 



96 EXTRACTS FROM 

" Sense is the diamond, weighty, solid, sound ; 
When cut by wit, it casts a brighter beam ; 

(As Young's poetry does.) 
Yet, wit apart, it is a diamond still. 

(A " rough" one perhaps.) 

Wit, widow'd of good sense, is worse than nought ; 

It hoists more sail, to run against a rock. 

Thus, a half- Chesterfield is quite a fool ; 

Whom dull fools scorn, and bless their want of wit." 

Has Lord Chesterfield deserved this encomium ? Johnson 
would not have allowed it. 

But to return to more serious admonitions. The poet ex- 
horts us to aspire to 

" A joy high privileg'd from chance, time, death ! 
A joy which death shall double ! judgment crown ! 
Crown'd higher, and still higher, at each stage, 
Through blest eternity's long day ; yet still, 
Not more remote from sorrow, than from him, 
Whose lavish hand, whose love stupendous pours 
So much of Deity on guilty dust. 
There, O my Lucia ! may I meet thee there, 
Where not thy presence can improve my bliss !" 

I believe there cannot be a stronger instance of the union of 
divine and human love, than in these two lines. But all is, 
of course, absorbed in the love divine. If human love is 
mixed with it, it must be in the participation of the happiness 
that love divine must give. 

We may add to this, 

11 God, and his mercies, fill the ample space, . 
Those objects must require in minds, whose 'joy 5 
Is full, as it is perfect ; other joys 

12 



young's night thoughts. 97 

Would lessen, not increase it ; that alone 
Can fill its cup of happiness ; the cup 
In which the foretaste was already given, 
Even in this sublunary world ; how far 
Beneath that glorious blaze, with which the Sun 
Of Righteousness in fullest lustre shines ! 

The poet sends us to our rest, in saying, 

" Soul, body, fortune ! every good pertains 
To one of these ; but prize not all alike ; 
The goods of fortune to thy body's health, 
Body to soul, and soul submit to God." 

He still, however, has a parting " bon repos" to give us ; 
for his ideas will neither suffer him nor his readers to sleep, 
and his thoughts are no dreams. 

The feelings inspired by autumn are well worthy of 
Thomson's expression of them ; they are suited to the rational 
and grateful character of declining age, much better than the 
animating growth of spring, or the calm maturity of summer, 
and are a fit preparation for the settled repose of old age, and 
the approaching quiet of the grave, " our subterranean road 
to bliss." Thomson, I think, is the only poet who has sung 
inspiring autumn; Akenside has not touched that tender 
string of his " harp ;" and Mrs. Barbauld has displayed her 
sprightly feelings in her unrhimed lines upon spring, though 
I think she has hardly done justice in others to the delicate 
beauties of the snowdrop, that child of winter. But surely, 
Mason's pious and poetical sonnet on his birthday (Feb. 24), 
should not be forgot. Such an old age as his (" seventy years 
and one"), is indeed a second spring, " veiling stern winter's 
frown." It may well excite us to 

" Give praise to Him, from whom all blessings flow." 



98 EXTRACTS FROM 

The autumnal feelings which Thomson describes, delightful 
as they are, have, perhaps, too great a degree of melancholy 
in them to suit those who require more social enjoyments. 
Thomson's early habits, as he relates them in his " Winter," 
seem to have fitted him for the former ; but he shows himself 
to have been not less open to the impressions of philanthropy. 
The pupil of nature cannot want natural affections. 

A fine autumnal day is a calm prelude to winter ; and so 
ought the autumn of life to be to the winter of the grave ; and 
what can that be, if the winter of a well-spent life, but a 
prelude to the spring and summer of life eternal ? (Sept. 25, 
1832). 



NIGHT THE NINTH. 

Having gone on, with unabated force, among his other 
effusions in the preceding Eight Nights, to show how mixed 
with vice, and consequent unhappiness, are the pleasures of 
life, in which the only " buckler" that can shield us from 
despair or danger, is in the " single sentence" last quoted, the 
poet ends his series of " complaints" with " the consolation" 
announced in the ninth and last Night, expressing, as we may 
suppose, his own consolation in this exordium, 

" As when a traveller, a long day past 

In painful search of what he cannot find, 

At night's approach, content with the next cot, 

There ruminates awhile his labour lost ; 

Then cheers his heart with what his fate affords, 

And chants his sonnet to deceive the time, 

Till the due season calls him to repose ; 



young's night thoughts. 99 

Thus I, long travell'd in the ways of men, 

And dancing, with the rest, the giddy maze, 

Where disappointment smiles at hope's career ; 

Warn'd by the languor of life's evening ray, 

At length have hous'd me in an humble shed ; 

Where, future wand'ring banish'd from my thought, 

And waiting, patient, the sweet hour of rest, 

T chase the moments with a serious song ; 

Song sooths our pains ; and age has pains to sooth." 

I trust the reader will agree with me, that greater beauty, 
greater pathos, greater or more well-founded feeling, cannot 
be expressed than are in these lines. It is the poetry of nature, 
of reason, and of virtuous feeling, which must find a sympathy 
in the breast of every one so endowed. 

Again the poet attacks Lorenzo, saying, 

" Has not the muse asserted pleasures pure, 
Like those above, exploding other joys ? 
Weigh what was urg'd, Lorenzo ! fairly weigh ; 
And tell me, hast thou cause to triumph still ! 
I think thou wilt forbear a boast so bold ; 
But if, beneath the favour of mistake, 
Thy smile's sincere, not more sincere can be 
Lorenzo's smile, than my compassion for him." 

Incited by this compassion, he goes on to expostulate with 
Lorenzo, upon the vanities and deceits of this world, and the 
threats and dangers of the next, looking forward to the general 
conflagration, which he supposes will happen 

" At midnight, when mankind is wrapt in peace, 
And worldly fancy feeds on golden dreams ; 
To give more dread to man's most dreadful hour ; 
h 2 



100 EXTRACTS FROM 

At midnight, 'tis presum'd, this pomp will burst 

From tenfold darkness ; sudden, as the spark 

From smitten steel ; from nit'rous grain, the blaze. 

Man, starting from his couch, shall sleep no more I 

The day is broke, which never more shall close ! 

Above, around, beneath, amazement all ! 

Terror and glory join'd in their extremes ! 

Our God in grandeur, and our world on fire ! 

All nature struggling in the pangs of death ! 

Dost thou not hear her ? dost thou not deplore 

Her strong convulsions, and her final groan ? 

Where are we now ? Ah me ! the ground is gone 

On which we stood, Lorenzo ! while thou may'st, 

Provide more firm support, or sink for ever ! 

Where ? how ? from whence ? vain hope ! it is too late ! 

Where, where, for shelter shall the guilty fly, 

When consternation turns the good man pale ? 

***** 

Thrice happy they, that enter now the court 
Heaven opens in their bosoms ; but how rare, 
Ah me ! that magnanimity, how rare ! 
What hero, like the man who stands himself, 
Who dares to meet his naked heart alone," &c. &c. 

And is there, indeed, any one who is thoroughly prepared 
to meet the " day of His coming ?" or to abide the antici- 
pation of it ? 

Imprest with these feelings, and vainly asking when and 
how this " great day" shall come, and losing himself in con- 
jectures about it, he at length exclaims, 

" Great God of wonders ! (if, thy love survey'd, 
Aught else the name of wonderful retains) 



young's night thoughts. 101 

What rocks are these on which to build our trust ? 

Thy ways admit no blemish ; none I find ; 

Or this alone — that none is to be found : 

Not one, to palliate peevish grief's complaint," &c. &c. 

Before the tremendous description he has just given, he had 
enumerated the kindnesses of Him, 

" Whose threats are mercies, whose injunctions guides, 
Assisting, not restraining, reason's choice ; 
Whose sanctions, unavoidable results 
From nature's course, indulgently reveal'd ; 
If unreveal'd, more dangerous, not less sure." 

(More dangerous, because we should not then- have known 
how to have acted respecting them, " sure" as the consequence 
of our errors would have been.) 

*' Thus, an indulgent father warns his sons, 
* Do this, fly that,' — nor always tells the cause ; 
Pleas'd to reveal, as duty to his will, 
A conduct needful to their own repose." 

(The reason of the revelation may not always have been 
given, but was it not because it would be understood without 
that? Our blessed Saviour appeals to our reason, as the 
guide to our " faith," and consequently to our obedience. 
How else can we expect that our " repose" will be secured by 
it ? and how has that repose been attended to ! O man, un- 
grateful man !) 

The poet says afterwards, 

" Amid my list of blessings infinite, 

Stands this the foremost, that my heart has bled." 

(" It is good for me that I have been in trouble, that I may 
learn thy statutes/') 



102 EXTRACTS FROM 

" 'Tis heaven's last effort of good-will to man ; 
When pain can't bless, heaven quits us in despair. 
Who fails to grieve, when just occasion calls, 
Or grieves too much, deserves not to be blest ; 
Inhuman, or effeminate his heart. 
Reason absolves the grief, which reason ends." 

Then we may reason ourselves out of our grief; but will 
our feelings always let us do this, stronger as they often are 
than our reason ? Time is necessary to allay, and gradually 
to expel grief. As to " pain blessing," it is not easy to con- 
ceive how that can be, for it is the solace that must bless, 
though pain may soften us for the reception of it, if the pain 
does not entirely overcome us; but surely resignation will 
afford a remedy. 

The poet then reviews his past work, and what it contains ; 
but finds that much still remains, in the tribute due to 
" night," of gratitude for the reflections it suggested, which 
the moon " also added to, being," as the worthy Mons. Bonnet 
once said to me at Geneva, in 1/89, " Le compagnon de ceux 
qui meditent :" and though her own light is rendered faint by 
the sunshine of the day, outshining that of " ten thousand 
suns," in the immensity of space which their different 
distances measure. " Velut inter ignes luna minores," is 
Horace's expression, little as he was aware what these ignes 
minores were. So little does our unassisted reason supply 
the defects of our sight. O Lucretius, could you say, 

" Os homini sublime dedit, ccelumque tueri 
Jussit, et erectos ad sidera tollere vultus," 

and not feel that this power of contemplation was given to 
excite " man" to aspire to what he contemplated ? No, 
Epicurus had misled you, and made you follow his wretched 
conclusions. You expected no other life, and you quitted this 
in satiety and despair. 



young's night thoughts. 103 

So did Atticus, and probably others, who may have put an 
end to their lives, as Cicero says, " injussu imperatoris, id est, 
Dei." And are these the fruits of that Epicurism, which 
some are still so partial to ? Is this the union of virtue and 
pleasure, which it professes to teach ? O Religion ! thou only 
canst unite them ! thou canst make martyrs, but not suicides. 

The poet then says, elevated as he is by his contemplations, 
and by the " immortal silence' \ that favours them, 

" O majestic night ! 
Nature's great ancestor, day's elder born, 
[As having existed before " light was."] 

And fated to survive the transient sun, 

By mortals and immortals seen with awe ! 

A starry crown thy raven brow adorns, 

An azure zone thy waist ; clouds, in heaven's loom 

Wrought through varieties of shape and shade, 

In ample folds of drapery divine, 

Thy flowing mantle form, and, heaven throughout, 

Voluminously pour thy pompous train." 

(This> however, the poet must have seen " in his mind's 
eye," as the " mantle" would wrap all in darkness.) 

" Thy gloomy grandeurs (nature's most august, 
Inspiring aspect !) claim a grateful verse, 
And like a sable curtain starr'd with gold, 
Drawn o'er my labours past, shall close the scene.t' 

This magnificent description is followed by an invocation to 
the great Creator of these wonders, and to the angels and 
archangels, who, with man, join in admiring them, to 



" Assist his daring song, 
Contracted circle." 



Loose him from earth's inclosure, from the sun's 



104 EXTRACTS FROM 

(Contracted certainly, in comparison with infinity.) 

" Set his heart at large ; 
Illuminate his spirit, give it range 
Through provinces of thought, yet unexplor'd :" 

(As being thoroughly metaphysical, the visible " scenes'* 
being already " closed.") 

" Teach him, by this stupendous scaffolding, 
Creation's golden steps, to climb to thee. 
Teach him with art great Nature to control, 
And spread a lustre o'er the shades of night." 

The poet says, 

" Stars teach, as well as shine ; at Nature's birth, 
Thus their commission ran — be kind to man." 

Exhorting Lorenzo to study their lessons, he says, 

" What read we here ? the existence of a God? 
Yes, and of other beings, man above ;" 

There seems to be a strong probability that the chain of in- 
telligent beings is carried above us, from the gradation that 
we see below us, and from the confined limits of our own 
knowledge and faculties, which may both be progressive. 
He who is made " ruler over many things," must have powers 
given him to exercise that rule. 

" Natives of aether ! sons of other climes ! 

And what may move Lorenzo's wonder more, 

Eternity is written in the skies. 

And whose eternity ? — Lorenzo ! thine ; 

Mankind's eternity. Nor faith alone, 

Virtue grows here ; here springs the sovereign cure 



young's night thoughts. 105 

Of almost every vice ; but chiefly thine ; 

Wrath, pride, ambition, and impure desire. 
***** 

Why, from yon arch, that infinite of space, 
With infinite of lucid orbs replete, 

(This infinite may, I think, be doubted, as it would make 
the creation commensurate with its Creator.) 

Which set the living firmament on fire, 
At the first glance, in such an overwhelm 
Of wonderful, on man's astonish'd sight, 
Rushes Omnipotence ? — to curb our pride, 

(And at the same time to " give glory to God ;" which may 
well curb the vain-glory of man.) 

Our reason rouse, and lead it to that power, 

Whose~love lets down these silver chains of light ; 

To draw up man's ambition to Himself, 

And bind our chaste affections to his throne. 
***** 

Thus man his sovereign duty learns in this 

Material picture of benevolence. 

* * * * * 

And see ! day's amiable sister sends 

Her invitation, in the softest rays 

Of mitigated lustre, courts thy sight, 

Which suffers from her tyrant brother's blaze." 

Moonlight seems to be doubly formed for contemplation, 
as it does not afford sufficient fight for work, but enough for 
meditation, which it also excites, as well as 

" Devotion ! daughter of astronomy ! 
An undevout astronomer is mad." 



106 EXTRACTS FROM 

Yes, or at least irrational ; but it is to be feared that some 
are merely Deists, because they have studied the heavens and 
not the Scriptures. Moral evidence is required for a religion 
that exhibits and enjoins the perfection of moral practice. The 
poet, however, unwilling to quit the skies, says, 

" Vast concave ! ample dome ! wast thou design 'd 
A meet apartment for the Deity ? 
Whose omnipresence wants a larger space 
Than limited existence can afford." 

Infinite as that omnipresence is. 

" Not so ; that thought thy state impairs, 
Thy lofty sinks, and shallows thy profound, 
And straitens thy diffusive ; dwarfs the whole,. 
And makes the universe an orrery." 

This, however, like other inflated language, is exaggerated ; 
for what can exceed infinity ? It is something like 

" Eternity's too short 
To utter all thy praise." 

These are surely solecisms ; and, therefore, instead of ex- 
alting the subject, they lower it, by making it liable to irre- 
verent ridicule. And the same may perhaps be said of the 
expression, "most highest;" for are there different degrees 
of the superlative ? What do we not risk, when we get be- 
yond common sense ? or when we make a wrong use of terms ? 

The poet, now ascended to the sublimest heights of poetry, 
describes the day when Time 

" As a king depos'd disdains to live, 
Upon his own scythe falls ; nor falls alone ; 
His greatest foe falls with him ; Time, and he 
Who murder'd all Time's offspring, Death, expire. 



young's night thoughts. 107 

Time was ! eternity now reigns alone ! 
Awful eternity ! offended queen ! 

(Offended only by those who had given her just cause of 
offence, by neglecting her frequent admonitions, when she — 
often called, and with the voice of God, a voice proclaimed 
in his written word, and repeated to us by our consciences.) 
Then the " offended queen," 

" Eternity, the various sentence past, 

Assigns the sever'd throng distinct abodes 

Sulphureous, or ambrosial ; what ensues ? 

The deed predominant ! the deed of deeds ! 

Which makes a hell of hell, a heaven of heaven. 

The goddess, with determin'd aspect, turns 

Her adamantine key's enormous size 

Through destiny's inextricable wards, 

Deep driving every bolt, on both their fates. 

Then, from the crystal battlemeuts of heaven, 

Down, down she hurls it through the dark profound, 

Ten thousand thousand fathom, there to rust, 

And ne'er unlock her resolution more. 

The deep resounds, and hell, through all her gloom, 

Returns, in groans, the melancholy roar." 

(This is a tremendous picture, and not the less so for the 
probability of its spiritual truth. For how severe must the 
" wounds of the spirit" be !) 

" O how unlike the chorus of the skies ! 
O how unlike those shouts of joy, that shake 
The whole ethereal ! how the concave rings ! 
Nor strange, when deities their voice exalt ! 
And louder far, than when creation rose, 
6 



108 EXTRACTS FROM 

To see creation's godlike aim, and end, 
So well accomplish'd, so divinely clos'd !" 

The poet then asks — " What then ami?" which he an- 
swers by reproaching himself (suspending his censure on 
Lorenzo) for making complaints, when submission and resig- 
nation was his duty ; resignation to what was done, and will 
ever be done, for his best interest. 

" Heaven gives us friends to bless the present scene ; 

Resumes them, to prepare us for the next. 

All evils natural are moral goods ; 

All discipline, indulgence, on the whole. 

None are unhappy ; all have cause to smile, 

But such as to themselves that cause deny." 

But if life is a trial, tears may sometimes be mixed with 
our smiles ; and why do we call life " a vale of sorrows ?" 
The poet's conviction, however, makes him promise 

" To pay life's tax 
Without one rebel murmur, from this hour; 
Nor think it misery to be a man." 

Assimilating natural to moral changes, he says, 

" The winter is as needful as the spring ; 

The thunder, as the sun ; a stagnant mass 

Of vapours breeds a pestilential air ; 

Not more propitious the Favonian breeze 

To nature's health, than purifying storms. 

The dread volcano ministers to good, 

Its smother'd flames might undermine the world," &c. &c. 

" May heaven ne'er trust my friend with happiness, 

Till it has taught him how to bear it well 

By previous pain, and made it safe to smile." 



young's night thoughts. 109 

There is every probability that can be inferred from analogy, 
of the existence of higher orders of beings, above man, from 
analogy with what we know of the creation, from the lowest 
to the highest steps of the ladder. For this contemplation, 
the poet exhorts Lorenzo to " wake at midnight," 

" To lift his eye 
To yonder stars ; for other ends they shine, 
Than to light revellers from shame to shame, 
And thus be made accomplices in guilt." 

This is followed by showing the utility of this contemplation, 
to curb our pride, 

" Our reason rouse, and lead it to that Power, 
Whose love lets down these silver chains of light, 
To draw up man's ambition to himself, 
And bind our chaste affections to his throne. 
Thus man his sovereign duty learns, in this 
Material picture of benevolence." 

Again the poet reverts to his own feelings, which of course 
are wrought up to their highest pitch ; and he says this in- 
finity of wonders has been exhibited by the Deity, " that man 
might ne'er presume to plead amazement for disbelief of 
wonders in himself." 

" Shall God be less miraculous, than what 
His hand has form'd ? shall mysteries descend 
From unmysterious," &c. &c. 

This subject too he pursues with his usual elevation of 
thought and expression. He says, 

" Know this, Lorenzo, seem it ne'er so strange, 
Nothing can satisfy, but what confounds, 
Nothing but what astonishes, is true." 



110 EXTRACTS FROM 

And this the use of our senses is sufficient to convince us 
of. Still the poet goes on in endeavouring to rouse Lorenzo's 
blunted feelings. For this exertion of them, 

" Wouldst thou on metaphysic pinions soar ? 

Or wound thy patience amid logic thorns ? 

Or travel history's enormous round ? 

Nature no such hard task enjoins ; she gave 

A make to man directive of his thought ; 

A make set upright, pointing to the stars, 

As who should say, ' read thy chief lesson there.' 

Too late to read this manuscript of heaven, 

When, like a parchment roll shrunk up by flames, 

It folds Lorenzo's lesson from his sight, 

Lesson how various," &c. &c. 

Here again the poet enlarges and multiplies his imaginative 
and descriptive powers, descending from these heights to view 
with horror and indignation the crimes and abasements of 
unfeeling and unreflecting men, among whom, however, 

" In Christian hearts O for a pagan zeal !" 

So much more are men excited to search after truths them- 
selves, than to profit by the discoveries of others, and so to 
gain for themselves what they consider as a kind of second- 
hand credit. Some have done honour to their nature. 

" They taught, 
That narrow views betray to misery ; 
That, wise it is to comprehend the whole ; 
That, virtue rose from nature, ponder'd well, 
[Nature, to which Cicero so often appeals.] 

The single base of virtue built to heaven ; 
That God and nature our attention claim ; 



young's night thoughts. Ill 

That nature is the glass reflecting God, 

As by the sea reflected is the sun, 

Too glorious to be gazed on in his sphere ; 

That, mind immortal loves immortal aims ; 

That, boundless mind affects a boundless space ; 

That vast surveys, and the sublime of things, 

The soul assimilate, and make her great ; 

That, therefore, heaven her glories, as a fund 

Of inspiration, thus spreads out to man. 

Such are their doctrines ; such the night inspir'd." 

He goes on to show the truth and importance of this, in the 
proofs there are, that 

" The soul of man was made to walk the skies ; 
Delightful outlet of her prison here ! 
There, disincumber'd of her chains, the ties 
Of toys terrestrial, she can rove at large ; 
There freely can respire, dilate, extend, 
In full proportion let loose all her powers 
And, undeluded, grasp at something great 

(So evident is the superiority of the mind over the body.) 

This he says he will do in " the firmament," where, 

«• 
"-As earth- the body, since the skies sustain , 

The soul with food, that gives immortal life, j 

Call that the noble pasture of the mind ; 

Which there expatiates, strengthens, and exaltsy 

And riots through the luxuries of thought ; / 

Call it the garden of the Deity, 

Blossom'd with stars, redundant in the growth 

Of fruit ambrosial ; moral fruit to man. 

Call it the breastplate of the true high-priest, 




112 EXTRACTS FROM 

Ardent with gems oracular, that give, 

In points of highest moment, right response ; 

And ill neglected, if we prize our peace." 

He then enlarges on the immense (infinite ?. probably not) 
space occupied by the stars, with the distances of their spheres 
from each other. 

" What then the wondrous space through which they roll ? 
At once it quite engulphs all human thought : 
'Tis comprehension's absolute defeat." 

Going on with this maze of moving bodies, unsustained as 
they apparently are, he says, 

" Mark how the labyrinthian turns they take 
The circles intricate, and mystic maze, 
Weave the grand cypher of Omnipotence ; 
To gods how great ! how legible to man !" 

This is indeed a grand " cypher \" a cypher in which all 
existence is comprehended ; and of which man has as much 
knowledge as astronomy can give him. 

Here he speculates upon the possibility of these stars being 
destined " majestic seats" of the " angelic delegates of heaven," 
" ministering" for the high purposes of the Deity. There 
may be some foundation for this supposition. " Angels" are 
" messengers." 

Justly ascribing all these wonders to the power and majesty 
of God, he exclaims, 

" Say'st thou the course of nature governs all ? 
The course of nature is the art of God." 

For if this is not supernatural, what is ? 

He truly says, that both sight and thought are bewildered 



young's night thoughts. 113 

here ; perhaps Virgil has expressed as much as natural reli- 
gion could, in 

" Deum nam que ire per omnes 
Terrasque, tractusque maris, ccelumque profundum." 

Asking for the great Director of all these operations, the 
poet is as much at a loss as the Psalmist, when he looked all 
around, and could not see Him whom in vain he searched for. 

" How glorious then appears the mind of man, 
When in it all the stars and planets roll !"* 

Is the mind of man then infinite ? Surely not ; for then it 
would be equal to its Creator ; and this limitation of its powers, 
I think, shows that the material universe is limited also ; for 
if it were not, both would be commensurate with their Creator, 
as the human mind can comprehend, at least in a certain de- 
gree, all the material universe ; f the space beyond, (the " ex- 
tra-mundane" space) is occupied (if the term may be used) by 
the Being who fills it ; and it may be the womb of future 
creations, for his power is inexhaustible, and his agency must 
always be going on, secure as it is (not the Epicurean " secu- 
rity") in its own power ; and the omnipresence of the Deity 
excludes a vacuum. We may believe that the mind (soul) of 
man is coeternal, in futurity, with God himself, but in a subor- 
dinate eternity, in which it will exist under the protection of 
its Supreme Source. But even in that case, what more can it 
be, than what we are told it is here below, " the image of 
God?" 

We may say, then, of the " mind of man," that " what it 
seems, it is ;" that is, under the destination and protection of 
the great Being, who formed that " poor, that rich, that abject, 
that august, that wonderful creature, man." What is this 

* Night the Ninth. 

f And that comprehension will, no doubt, be more fully extended 
in a future life. 

I 



114 EXTRACTS FROM 

creature, who has within himself " such strange extremes ?" 
who has in his make that elastic principle, which can evolve 
into radiations of mental circumspection (if I may so speak), 
of which he is himself the centre, and which, like infinity 
itself, " have no circumference ?" of which, in fact, the great, 
the universal centre is God himself. He is the great, the 
supreme object to which his finite creature man must look, 
when, in following that golden rule, " Respice finem," he 
finds in that infinite end (for language is itself confounded in 
the ideas it would express) an ample reason for thanking 
and trusting in Him whose Being comprehends infinity and 
eternity, and who gave his creature man this power of looking 
towards it, spread as it is all around him. What are the 
'* many littles" that make up this immeasureable " mickle," 
and what is the being who, with this power, is affected by the 
least of those " littles," and who can, in his " mind's eye," 
span the whole of them? What can constitute the indivi- 
duality of such a being, of whom there are " countless mil- 
lions," of which, as individuals, St. Paul says, he will have to 
"present" such and such, at the great audience day of the 
Sovereign of the universe ? What are those, who will bow 
before His throne, great as they will be in the contemplation 
of their " Sovereign," however little in the contemplation of 
themselves ? Well may Young say, " His nature no man can 
o'er-rate ;" — but alas ! who " can under-rate his merit ?" — 
Alas, shall I say ? why lament an " unworthiness," which is 
compensated by the incomparable and incomprehensible "wor- 
thiness" of the Son of God, the Saviour and Redeemer of 
man ? And what is this man, who is himself the " temple of 
his God, his Saviour and Redeemer?" Can the " yvwOi GeavTov"* 
be carried to such an extent, or comminuted into such an in- 
finite divisibility of particles, each as infinitely divisible ? Yet 
all these are within the omniscience and the omnivident eye of 

* Know thyself. 



young's night thoughts. 115 

Him, who can see every " sparrow" that " falls to the ground," 
and by whom the very " hairs of our heads are numbered." 

How are we lost, how buried, in the mathematical calcula- 
tions, the metaphysical and ideal abstractions, that occupy 
our minds ! Do we indulge a blameable curiosity in thus an- 
ticipating what we are ultimately destined to enjoy ? For will 
not the 'progress, thus begun, be continued ? a progress 
which, if " coeval with the sun," would still be unfinished. 
Do we incur any blame in availing ourselves of the sunshine 
of our breasts, to throw a light into them, the rays of which 
are emanated from the Source of all light ? Can man " at his 
peril imitate his God?" can he be blameable, in attempting 
to rise, to the height and vastness of an original of whom he 
is himself " the image ?" to acquire new powers, which may 
gradually bring him nearer to that original? and are the 
powers already given him, to be repressed, or wasted on 
unworthy objects ? 

" Nothing can make it less than mad in man, 
To put forth all his ardour, all his art, 
And give his soul her full unbounded flight, 
But reaching him, who gave her wings to fly." 

So soars the eagle, aiming at the sun. But, 

" Tis moral grandeur makes the mighty man." 

And the perfection of morality is, to know, and to be con- 
sistent with itself. 

" And what it seems, it is ; great objects make 
Great minds, enlarging as their views enlarge ; 
Those still more godlike, as these more divine." 

He says also that 
" Wisdom and choice their well-known characters 
Here deep impress ; and claim it for their own ; 

i 2 



116 EXTRACTS FROM 

Though splendid all, no splendour void of use. 
Use rivals beauty ; art contends with power ; 
No wanton waste, amid effuse expense : 
The great Economist adjusting all 
To prudent pomp, magnificently wise !" 

(As nothing is made, so nothing is expended in vain.) 

" Then those aerial racers, O how swift! 

How the shaft loiters from the strongest string ! 

Spirit alone can distance the career." 

(For nothing but spirit can well exceed the swiftness of 
some substances, light, for instance, if substance it is.) 

" Orb above orb ascending without end ! 
Circle in circle, without end, inclos'd!" 

There may be varieties of expanse of space, as well as of 
size of substances, moving in them ; and these may balance 
each other by their projectile and centripetal forces, as far as 
we may presume to interpret the laws of the great Creator. 
As to quickness or slowness of motion, that, as well as size, 
seems to be entirely comparative *. Perhaps we may suppose 
a body in the centre of the universe (as in Mons. Lambert's 
system), large enough to be itself the centre of all gravitation, 
and having no projectile force given to it by the divine im- 
pulse, to be constantly at rest, and to be, as Mons. Lambert, 
and, indeed, our nocturnal bard, both suppose, the immediate 
and " local throne" of the Deity. As such a central body, it 
can have no revolutionary, nor any other motion, unless it is 
a libratory one. Perfect stagnation seems to be at variance 
with the general order of things. 

* And not real : proved, I think, by the motion of the earth round 
the sun, which, though at the rate of 68,000 miles in an hour, and 
nineteen miles in a moment ! makes the earth be about five minutes 
in moving the length of its own diameter. 



young's night thoughts. 117 

Pursuing this astonishing subject, and comparing it with 
the pursuits of ambition, the poet says, 

" Now go, ambition! boast thy boundless might, 
In conquest o'er the tenth part of a grain." 

He goes on in the praises of the " great Artist," the " dread 
Deity," and his works, and considering Him as the object of 
our prayers as well as praises, he says, 

" In every storm, that either frowns or falls, 
What an asylum has the soul in prayer ! 
And what a fane is this, in which to pray ! 
And what a God must dwell in such a fane !" 

But while we humiliate ourselves, he says, 
" The mind that would be happy, must be great 
Great in its wishes ; great in its surveys." 

(Great in the consciousness of its own weakness, and in 
knowing whom it depends upon.) 

He then advises Lorenzo to question himself deeply, in 
order to know the ends of his existence, and to be convinced 
of that of a God. From this the poet endeavours to ramble 
in thought to the utmost bounds of creation. 

" Where rears its terminating pillar high 

Its extra-mundane head ; and says, to gods, 

In characters illustrious as the sun, 

' I stand, the plan's proud period ; I pronounce 

The work accomplish'd, the creation clos'd,' " &c. &c. 

Dwelling on this stupendous subject, and vainly attempting 

to equal it in his images, for he had before said, of the 

Creator, 

" I am, thy name ! existence, all thine own ! 
Creation's nothing ; natter'd much, if styl'd, 
The thin, the fleeting atmosphere of God." 



118 EXTRACTS FROM 

Looking for more worlds, and above all, the great Creator, 
he says, 

" Like him of Uz, 
I gaze around ; I search on every side — 
O for a glimpse of Him my soul adores ! 
As the chas'd hart, amid the desert waste, 
Pants for the living stream ; for Him who made her, 
So pants the thirsty soul, amid the blank 
Of sublunary joys." 

The existence of a supreme Being is in a manner an abstract 
idea in the human mind ; but in ascending the scale of ex- 
cellence, we cannot stop till we arrive at the " first good, first 
perfect, and first fair." Man finds the idea and the desire of 
realising it in his own mind ; and they both imply its reality. 
If not, from whence does the idea arise ? In our comparative 
estimations, we find that " God alone is good," a title which 
Christ himself would not allow to be given to him. 

Lost in vain inquiries and interrogations upon points on 
which no information has been or will be given, the poet 
despairs of attaining a summit towards which he has made so 
little approach, and he concludes with, 

" Here human effort ends ; 
And leaves me still a stranger to his throne." 

Convinced of his error, he says, 

" Full well it might ; I quite mistook my road. 
Born in an age more curious than devout ; 
More fond to fix the place of heaven, or hell, 
Than studious this to shun, or that secure. 
'Tis not the curious, but the pious path, 
That leads me to my point ; Lorenzo ! know, 
Without or star, or angel, for their guide, 



young's night thoughts. 119 



Who worship God, shall find him. Humble love, 
And not proud reason, keeps the door of heaven ; 
Love finds admission, where proud science fails." 

(Love regulated by reason, which should govern both our 
" hearts, our souls, and our strengths." It would otherwise 
be " love and madness *.") 

The " amor divinus" is mixed and tempered with fear ; 
fear heightened by ignorance ; for, 

" Not deeply to discern, not much to know, 

Mankind was born to wonder and adore." 

But the poet still finds matter for discussion, for conjecture, 
and for remonstrance, though he still finds Lorenzo insensible 
to the latter ; for vain are all addresses to the reason, if the 
feelings are not touched; whence the Italian proverb, " Mu- 
overe sol e vittoria f." A man may be, 

" Though blind of heart, still open in his eye." 

If " passion is pleased," reason is silenced, and can " ask 
no more," though 

" By strong guilt's most violent assault, 
Conscience is but disabled, not destroy'd." 

Man, feeling that he has the power of speaking to his own 
conscience, and of arguing and disputing with it, fancies that 
he has also the power of dictating to it, which his passions 
assist him in doing. But conscience will return to the attack, 
and will make itself heard, perhaps when it is too late for it 
to be heard with any profit. 

It may be observed, that the disbelief of a future life is 
often, if not generally accompanied by the disbelief of the 
reality of virtue, which the infidel considers as a mere calcu- 
lation of interest, in what it may look forward to, or else in 

* The madness of some enthusiasts, 
t " To conquer, we must move," that is, the feelings. 
2 



120 EXTRACTS FROM 

the esteem that its pretensions may procure for it here. The 
former the infidel considers as a chimera, and the latter only 
as real. Viewing it in this light, he makes nothing of the 
goodness of God, the importance of virtue in this world, &c. 
All this he regards as a delusion, from which no solid benefit 
can arise, or he may say, that we should not pretend to know 
what we cannot know to a certainty ; that we should set no 
value on the knowledge we have, because we cannot obtain 
still greater; and that, therefore, with the Pyrrhonists, we 
should doubt of, and in doubting, reject every thing, except 
what a superficial observation may suggest to us. This, no 
doubt, will save trouble, and remove doubt ; but it will sub- 
stitute despair in its stead. 

In whatever light we regard the person and nature of Christ, 
I think we must consider the sacrifice made by him of himself, 
as requiring to be made by a being of the highest order, and 
so nearly approaching to an equality with the Supreme, as to 
justify the attribution of a perfect equality with him ; and that 
Christ was, as Sir Humphry Davy expresses it in his " Last 
Days of a Philosopher," " an integrant part of the Deity 
himself." However mysterious and incomprehensible this 
may be by us, it is no more so than the other mysteries of 
religion, and all that belongs to the nature and attributes of 
the Father and Creator of all existence. A mystery, therefore, 
attested by such evidence as this is, demands our fullest accep- 
tation, and will not allow of its being lowered to the standard, 
or any thing near the standard, of human reason. It is a 
trial, and perhaps the greatest trial, of our faith, to believe the 
" Son of God, and the equal to, and coexistent with, God 
himself," was incarnate (" made man,") and underwent all 
that is recorded of Christ in the most authentic of all nar- 
ratives, to save his creature man, who had, by the abuse of 
his conditional power of free agency, fallen from his original 
nature, and ceased to be, what he was first intended to be, 
" the image of his Maker ;" a state to which, by the asto- 



young's night thoughts. 121 

nishing but necessary sacrifice made for him by our Saviour 
and Redeemer, he is now restored, and may, if he falls not 
again, maintain himself in. The goodness of God, which 
ordained the sacrifice, will extend the mercy required for 
giving to man the full benefit of it ; what man was created 
for, he is again made capable of being. The Spirit of God 
assimilated him to itself, and has restored what was first given 
to him. Man is, or may be if he will, again the image of his 
Maker. Thus is " the power, the wisdom, and the mercy of 
God," fully displayed ; and to be fully sensible of it, we must 
believe all that can reasonably be inferred from the Gospel. 

" For what, my small philosopher, is hell? 
'Tis nothing but full knowledge of the truth." 

So awful a truth may well require the greatest acquire- 
ments of philosophy to " know it fully," that 

" Truth may not be sworn our foe, 
Nor call eternity to do her right." 

If she does, we shall indeed find that 
" A little learning is a dangerous thing, 

and that we must 
" Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring. 

But this " drinking deep," must be accompanied with a 
good taste and a good digestion, otherwise what we " drink" 
may turn sour in our stomachs, as it appears to have done in 
" Lorenzo's." 

The poet, however, still continues to urge his point, not 
omitting an appeal to the Father, the Controller, the Judge of 
all, who alone can determine the time when many 

" Shall wake, when the creation sleeps ; 
When, like a taper, all these suns expire ; 




122 EXTRACTS FROM 

When Time, like him of Gaza in his wrath, 
Plucking the pillars that support the world, 
In nature's ample ruins lies entomb'd ; 
And midnight, universal midnight ! reigns." 

This ending with universal darkness is consonant enough 
with the title and general tenor of this poem, but not, I think, 
with the best idea that we can form of the designs of the 
Creator. " Light" was not designed, nor supported by so 
many suns, to be entirely extinguished ; universal light, there- 
fore, in its highest splendour, is more to be expected. The 
angels are angels of light; Satan, the prince of darkness. 
What other light may take place of that we now enjoy, we 
cannot know. Whatever is short of perfection now, will pro- 
bably be perfected hereafter. 

The sublimity of this poem surely atones for its obscurity ; 
nor is that obscurity impenetrable, by those who feel them- 
selves enough interested in the most important truths, to be 
inclined to attend to them. 

The fortitude with which we meet death, depends perhaps a 
good deal upon the credit that we expect to meet with by it 
from our fellow-creatures ; for we are apt to value the " praise 
of men more than the praise of God." But both may concur, 
and one will be given by the rational part of our species, in 
proportion to our claim to the other. By those who do not 
think with equal seriousness of that claim, the mere exhibition 
of fortitude will often (not always, for it must be determined 
by the conduct of our past lives) be attributed to our sense 
of having sufficient grounds for it ; but this can only be 
thoroughly known to God and ourselves. 

So little information has been given us in the sacred 
writings, or even in the mysterious expressions of St. Paul, 
respecting the state of the soul after death, or the time when 
its reanimation in another and a more " glorious body" will 
take place, that we are left in a manner to the dictates of our 



young's night thoughts. 123 

reason and our feelings, powerfully and unanswerably as they 
are appealed to in this poem, to that little information that has 
been given us, to the firm belief which the sufferings of the 
early martyrs (whose blood might well be called " the seed of 
the church")? witnesses as they had been of the general con- 
firmation of the truth of his religion by our blessed Saviour, 
witnesses too of his life and miracles, of his sacrifice of himself, 
and, above all, his resurrection and ascension (without which 
our "faith would be vain") testified, to found our opinion of 
them upon. The uncertainty in which we are left, with the 
" tremulous" hope of a " bliss" to which we are total 
" strangers," is probably necessary to keep us in awe, and to 
secure, by our religious faith and our moral conduct (in those 
who have that faith) our title to the future happiness which 
is conditionally promised to us, and to add to the many trials 
which we are destined to undergo in our present state ; trials, 
which the hope of reward, or the fear of punishment, eternal 
as it is announced to be, and our persuasion of the justice, as 
well as the mercy, of God, may well induce us to sustain. 
All our feelings are thus acted upon ; and to qualify us for 
being influenced by them, we have the fortitude which our 
hopes, and the general estimation of our fellow-creatures, 
enforce our maintenance of. In many of them we see the 
manifestation of that hope and fortitude, assisted perhaps by 
constitutional influence; and the feelings of them exist, we 
may hope, in many more than we see the open manifestations 
of them in (prevented sometimes by false shame), especially as 
age advances upon them, and when the tenor of their past lives 
has strengthened those feelings. These support them in their 
decline, and the promises of pardon to repentant sinners (and 
who has not sins to repent of?) gives additional strength to 
that support. Thus they are left to " fear and tremble," 
which the stoutest and best of us may do, but neither to do 
that, nor to " mourn" for the loss of friends or relations, 
" without hope ;" hope which has all the encouragement that 



124 EXTRACTS FROM 

we are capable of receiving, or can reasonably expect to 
receive. That capacity, and those grounds of expectation, 
will differ in different minds, to which is generally given that 
degree of capacity which the " requirements" made of them 
will, as our blessed Saviour has told us, be proportioned to. 
Justice in this is fully accordant with mercy ; we are respon- 
sible for no more than the first requires, and that responsi- 
bility is measured by all the allowances that the second can 
suggest. Of what then have we to complain, when we have 
so many inducements given us, to support the trials which we 
may expect such rewards for our sustainment of?* The duties 
of " doing justly, loving mercy, and walking humbly with our 
God," are among those trials, and our performance of them 
will be accepted, if suited to our ability for it ; nor will our 
Creator be " extreme to mark what is amiss," in the defects 
of that performance, if we " confess" and repent of them, for 
which " He will be faithful and just to forgive us." Let us 
then, sinners as we all are, rely upon the assurances that we 
have received, in our endeavours to merit the fulfilment of 
them ; let us live in obedience, that we may die in hope. As 
Young says, " Religion's all ;" nor can the "■ joys of life" 
have any ' ' heart or substance," but as they are consistent 
with the respect which reason itself requires for our religious 
duties, which comprehend all that we owe to God, to our 
fellow-creatures, and to ourselves. We cannot surely allow 
any truth to Voltaire's 

" Dieu a fait les hommes legers et vains, 
Pour les rendre moins miserables."f 

For vanity and levity will go farther than as mere excuses for 
the neglect of our more serious duties, and an " aimable 
vautrien" (an agreeable but good for nothing man,) which 

* And which " patience and resignation " are amply sufficient to 
enable us to support. 

f God has made men light and vain, that they maybe less miserable. 



young's night thoughts. 125 

that neglect may make, will never have the real esteem of 
mankind, nor any consideration but what charity allows him, 
and the due regulation of our own conduct requires, without 
our assuming a right to judge finally of his. In this too our 
pride (that " lawful pride" that " includes humility,") may 
assist us, and may correct itself. Like Madame de Stael's 
" Lord Nelvil" in her ingenious " Corinne," we may be 
" severes pour les nations," severe to nations, though to a 
certain degree " indulgents pour les individus," indulgent 
to individuals, and we may well suppose that God himself will 
make the same distinctions in his judgments, that of each will 
be " required" according to what to each " is given." The 
French, indeed, have had a most severe lesson in their revo- 
lution, and many of them no doubt have profited by it. We 
must hope that the " irritamenta malorum," excitements of 
evils, amongst us, will not bring on a similar one. 

Reasoning from induction requires thought ,- its conclusions, 
therefore, do not immediately occur to the mind, which is 
often left exposed to the influence of the animal spirits, or the 
varying suggestions which either they, or the natural changes 
of our minds produce. Thus we have always a battle to fight, 
in adhering to reasonable conclusions, or in resisting unrea- 
sonable ones. Our ability to fight this battle will, I think, be 
assisted by our perusal of, and meditation upon, the sublime 
poem which I have made the subject of my thoughts and 
discussions. 

Young says of the happiness of a future life, 

" What heart but trembles at so strange a bliss ?" ' *— * 
And well may tremble, for so vast a bliss 
(Vast without waste, and lasting without end) 
No head can comprehend, no " heart conceive." 
What wonder then, if so unknown a state 
Should more our doubts excite, than our belief 
Command ? and, spite of God's own word, his voice 



126 EXTRACTS FROM YOUNg's NIGHT THOUGHTS. 

That still within us speaks, in reason's spite, 

Shall find no answer from the ardent thought 

That " weds it to desire ?" shall rather raise 

Doubts, that to reason and to feeling still 

Obdurate foes, shall to " the charmer's voice," 

Like " the deaf adder," no assent return ? 

Speak then the truth, say, that whate'er our wish 

True happiness to gain, in " pleasure's paths 

We still the steps pursue that reason shuns ;" 

We still " the dance, the die, the midnight bowl, 

Which death ne'er fails to crown," with ardour follow ; 

" Calling for all the joys beneath the moon, 

Against him turn the key, and bid him sup 

With our progenitors ; he drops his mask," 

(A mask the " pamper'd spendthrift" well might wear) 

" Frowns out at full; we start, despair, expire." 

Or say, that to the ground with fullest sense 

Prest of our own " unworthiness," the boon 

Which God's own mercy offers, to accept 

We dread, nor trust that mercy, nor the wishes 

Which urge us to believe the mercy real. 

So heavy is the " burthen of our sins," 

" The particle of air divine" within us, 

With all " the weight of yesterday's debauch " 

Their own still more increasing, they forbid 

Aloft to rise, " and fix it to the ground*." 

* To be raised only by the mercy of Him who has promised it. 



THE END. 



ERRATA ET DESIDERATA. 



NIGHT THE FIRST. 

Page 5, line 2, for "just," read first. Either of these, indeed, will do, 
for " Nature's lessons" must always be just, and first to be attended to, 
given as they are by Nature's God. 

Page 7j line 29, "procrastination" — will hardly allow us to " work" 
out our salvation with fear and trembling, which then may come too 
late. But " guarding our thoughts" is in itself a " work." 

NIGHT THE SECOND. 

Page 9, line 10,— 

" Redeem we time ? Its loss we dearly buy." 

Such a " loss" would hardly have any " gain" in it, except as an 
Irish bargain. But we may make a purchase that we lose by, if we are 
cheated, or cheat ourselves. In " beguiling time," we may often be- 
guile ourselves. " C'est le plus gros jeu, celui des moments." Time 
was made for man, in his mortal state, and is given him to " use." One 
of its best uses is in mutual instruction, by words or by example. 

Page 14, line 14, " converse" with men requires loquacity ; converse 
with nature, silence. Both in the communication of knowledge : with 
nature, solely in the mind ; with man, through the medium of speech. 

NIGHT THE THIRD. 

Page 17, line 26. — As an excuse for my metaphysical question, I may 
say, that if we place all existence in God, "matter" will have none in 
itself. How then can it be palpable, except through the probably de- 
lusive medium of our senses ? Spiritual existence must have spiritual 
perceptions ; comprehend them as little as we may, they will not be such 
as attend " this mortal coil." These spiritual perceptions will tell us 



128 ERRATA ET DESIDERATA. 

that " death is more apparently than really the extinction of life." 
Want of these perceptions must be insensibility, or rather " annihila- 
tion." The sensibility of the deist must be very imperfect. 

NIGHT THE FOURTH. 

Page 22, line 29. — Shall we not excuse what arises from the weakness 
of our nature? And does not " avarice" often do so? Profusive enjoy- 
ments may be still more selfish, as they leave us nothing to be generous 
with. But these, as well as our other faults, require the great atonement 
that has been made. 

Page 25, line 16. — Rousseau's assertion was indeed a strange one, 
" that the sight of Christ's miracles would not have convinced, but only 
confounded him." What other conviction did he require, than what 
the evidence of the senses gave, that the miracles were done by a person 
divinely gifted, and himself divine. But Rousseau's pride would not 
allow that belief. If he was justly called " un fou sublime," it shows 
that the highest flights of human sublimity, when winged by pride, are 
weak opponents to the language of truth ; for Rousseau himself acknow- 
ledges that the " language" of the Gospel was not that " of invention." 

Page 27, line 8. — I know not whether Mons. Lambert's localising the 
seat of God's power is at variance with his omnipresence, which may be 
considered as universal locality, and we see the peculiar marks of his 
power in the " worlds celestial," that people the " proud arch," appa- 
rently over our heads, but in fact spread all around us. Their locality 
then is at least very extensive. 

NIGHT THE FIFTH. 

Page 34, line 16. — So men are often obliged to act the hypocrites in 
repressing the licence in others which they indulge in themselves, and 
their sacrifice to propriety is in fact a sacrifice to pride. But how easily 
this is seen through ! 

Page 35, line 27. — If it is true, as Young says, that 

" Few bring back at eve, 
Immaculate, the manners of the morn," 

Those "manners" may return on the succeeding " morn," if there is a 
prevalence on the side of virtue ; and thus men may live, as so many of 



ERRATA ET DESIDERATA. 129 

them do, in a state of vacillation between right and wrong, if not between 
virtue and vice. If the latter prevails, the "manners" that "virtue" 
should suggest, will have been more than " maculated" already, and 
such a man may add to, inscead of escaping from, the " infections of the 
world." Young may be thought too severe in his censures of the world, 
but a compliance with its customs and manners depends so much on the 
character and disposition of the individual, that it is, perhaps, impos- 
sible to lay down the same rule for all : one truth, however, is of uni- 
versal application, that 

" 'Tis moral grandeur makes the mighty man." 

And that is a standard which we cannot lower with safety. 

Page 36, line 8. — Those who are capable of " thoughts solid and 
sublime," must be " regenerated," not by man, but by God. 

Page 38, line 26, at " une memoire d'Aubergiste." 

Note. — An innkeeper's bill ; where all unconnected things are to be 
found. 

Page 40, line 30. — The " suicide," who has lived only for himself 
(for his own sensual enjoyments), atones for it by the ruin which be 
rushes into. He will not wait for the " stratagems and surprises of 
death" (page 45), though he courts and anticipates them by his licen- 
tious enjoyments. 

NIGHT THE SIXTH. 

Note to page .50, line 18. — If we consider the pleasure that " admi- 
ration" and the expression of it give, I think we shall hardly doubt of 
these being the chief enjoyments of a future life. 

Page 50, line 29. — Will not the possessors of " rank, station, or 
riches," attend to these admonitions? or will they continue in their 
*' proud mendicancy ?" 

Page 51, line 29, for " probabl," read probably. 

Page 55, line 8, " ask the swain, &c."— Much of this, however, must 
depend on the state of the mind ; mental insensibility is much the same 
as ocular blindness. 

From what is said here of the enjoyments which Nature affords, I 
think it may be inferred, that her scenery has this advantage over the 
representations of art, vary them as we will, that the former may suit 

K 



130 ERRATA ET DESIDERATA. 

any disposition that we can be in, whether grave, gay, or even gloomy, 
better than any thing that art can do. The revolutions of the seasons 
show this in sensible minds, and it is according to the effect of the state 
of the atmosphere, as well as to the changes in the face of Nature her- 
self. These changes produce a continual variety, so that no impression 
remains long enough on our minds to wear out, or to become oppressive 
of itself; and even all human changes or reverses lose their force on us 
by long continuance, and the natural ones of our minds make the ac- 
cordance of the objects, on which their attentions are fixed, necessary; 
if we are seriously disposed, we require serious objects, if gaily, gay 
ones, &c. This versatility, whatever Young has said against it, and 
against " the witchcrafts of the world," that encourage it, and in praise 
of equanimity, is necessary to enable us to bear the mutability of all on 
earth, to " disengage ourselves" even " from a friend's grave," and to 
prevent us from continuing 

" To weep in earnest, and yet weep in vain, 
As deep in indiscretion, as in woe." 

This indiscretion, then, we are chiefly saved from by the inconstancy of 
our feelings. Happy, however, it is for us, that there are some feelings 
which are more durable, especially those which are excited by social 
opinions, and by our future expectations. "Without this, our conduct 
might be as versatile as our feelings. Neither of these can be much in 
our favour, when we " live to fancy," as is described in page 59, instead 
of "doing real good." This is, indeed, a bad preparation for the "im- 
mortality" that all have to expect; we may then find to our cost the 
difference between " time, used and misused, in eternity." How envi- 
able must be the state of the man, 

" Whom immortality's full force inspires !" 

No " enthusiasm" can make us over-rate this, unable as we are either to 
" compute," or to " comprehend" it. How godlike then the desire of it ! 
Page 65, line 10.— 

" Nature revolves, but man advances, both 
Eternal," &c. 
This does not agree with what we are told in the Scriptures, that the 
works of nature (God) are to perish. To man is promised an eternity 
of existence, happy or miserable, as he deserves. What will become of 



ERRATA ET DESIDERATA. 131 

matter, we are not informed, nor indeed do we know what matter is. 
Perhaps we may say, that as " Ex nihilo nihil fit" so ad nihilum nihil 
redire potest. Something must endure ; and what, beside spirit ? As 
gravitation is peculiar to material bodies, spiritual ones are probably 
exempt from it ; to them, then, there are neither ups nor downs, and 
they may, it is presumed, move in any direction : upwards, if the term 
may still be used, they will surely fly ; the term " elevation" is not pre- 
cluded. But in our present state of ignorance, what can we affirm of 
metaphysical essences ? Of the most metaphysical, God himself, we 
should be careful how we set any limits to His power. 

Page 70, line 32, for " Cato," read Plato. — I have, indeed, purposely 
substituted " Cato," as the application of his name is to political ideas, 
unbending as they were in him, and more suited to pride than truth. 

NIGHT THE SEVENTH. 

Page 70, line 17, for " p. 43," read " p. 44." 

Page 74, line 9. — It is no small objection against scepticism, that it 
will not allow the feelings to be at rest, for it proves that neither 
they nor the reason are satisfied with it. A state of agitation will 
only gratify the passions, pride particularly. Perfect peace of mind 
cannot perhaps be obtained in a state of trial ; but an endeavour to sa- 
tisfy both the reason and the feelings (the milder ones) will be an ap- 
proach to it ; the more we are thrown upon ourselves, the more our 
pride has to struggle with, the more it will feel its own weakness. 

" Nothing is dead; nay, nothing sleeps; each soul 
That our animated human clay, 
Now wakes : is on the wing ; and where, O where, 
Will the swarm settle ?" 

(Page 78, before " How bright," &c.) 

In infinite space, no doubt ; in which may be " a valley of Jehosa- 
phat," reserved for souls superior in goodness and other attainments. 
This, Voltaire very foolishly and impiously ridicules, forgetting the 
nature of space and spirit, neither of which we can at all comprehend, 
except by the desires that we continually feel of future, greater, and 
more certain "joys" than any that this world affords. When we look 
upon our friends or our relations, upon a beloved and affectionate wife, 

K 2 



<y 



132 ERRATA ET DESIDERATA. 

our second self, we cannot but wish the enjoyment ensured which is here 
so precarious, and therefore, so mixed with anxiety : we dread to be 
left alone, we wish to live for ever with her who, perhaps, will receive 
our last breath, (still more dreadful if we receive hers,) who will give 
us the last embrace, and will unite her prayers with ours, that our union 
may be perpetuated where no sorrows will embitter, no fears allay it; 
but where it will be consummated and perpetuated, in the supreme 
happiness which the contemplation, the praise of, and gratitude to, the 
Giver of all good will secure to us. That such a consummation will take 
place, to those who wish for and will strive to deserve it, we have been 
assured. This immortality, and the Gospel which assures us of it, are 
mutual confirmations of each other ; our reason and our feelings tell us 
that the first must take place, and the second only has assured us of it ; 
we have, therefore, every reason (besides the powerful evidence of the 
latter) to believe in both. 

To this may be added the strength of reasoning which there is in the 
" Night Thoughts," and not the least in those passages, which Madame 
de Stael censures for their want of taste, as being almost impossible to 
be read. For instance, in Night the Ninth, 

" Can yonder Moon turn Ocean in his bed 
From side to side, in constant ebb and flow, 
And purify from stench his watery realms ?" 
(Which there probably was no other way of doing) 
" And fails her moral influence ? Wants she power 
To turn Lorenzo's stubborn tide of thought 
From stagnating on earth's infected shore, 
And purge from nuisance his corrupted heart ?" 

This is a metaphorical union of physical and moral ideas, similar to 
the comparison of" a dog returning to his vomit," and " a sow wallow- 
ing in the mire," in Scripture, the force of which far outweighs any 
objection that can be made against it. 

For further force, we may cite, 

" Imagine from their deep foundations torn 
The most gigantic sons of earth, the broad 
And towering Alps, all tost into the sea, 
And light as down, and volatile as air, 



ERRATA ET DESIDERATA. 133 

Their bulks enormous dancing on the waves, 

In time and measure exquisite ; while all 

The winds, in emulation of the spheres, 

Tune their sonorous instruments aloft, 

(To produce the ' harmony of the spheres') 

The concert swell, and animate the ball. 

Would this appear amazing ? What then, worlds 

In a far thinner element sustain' d, 

And acting the same part, with greater skill, 

(Skill not their own) 
More rapid movement," 

(Incomparably) 

" and for noblest ends?" 

Ends, as he goes on to state, still nobler than those relative to man. 
So supreme is the " great God of wonders," in the command of time, 
weight, measure, &c. &c. How great, how exact, how sublime, and 
yet how inadequate is all that Young has said ! How much more for- 
cible is the simple language (poetical or not) of the Scriptures ! Poetry, 
indeed, is little more than amplification. 

Page 73, line 1, " A God all mercy is a God unjust." 
This, which he had said in Night the Fourth, I must own is rather a 
bold appeal to the justice of God, in creatures who have so much need 
of his mercy. Let us then be careful how we provoke his justice. 
* * * " * * * 

" To love, and know, in man 
Is boundless appetite, and boundless power," &c. 

Without a future life, there would indeed be a wasle, both of human 
" appetite" and human " power." Man would be a " monster," how- 
ever " faultless" a one he might be. The greatest of the final causes of 
his existence would be wanting. A link would be broken in the chain 
of causes and effects, and that link, pertiaps, the nearest to Him who 
" holds the chain." 



" Thus far ambition, what says avarice ?" (Page 76, line 13). 
***** 

" The wise and wealthy are the same," &c. 



184 ERRATA ET DESIDERATA. 

If it is not too great a play upon words, it may be said that " what I 
gave, that I have," may be applied to the " avarice" which gives the 
wisdom it has " stored up," to be repaid with ample interest, either in 
the conduct of those who have received it, or by Him who will let no 
merit go unrewarded. The " avarice" that covets His reward, is indeed 
" a virtue most divine." 

****** 
" Heaven's promise dormant lies in human hope ; 
Who wishes life immortal, proves it too." 

A wish that has been given by Him, who is the Fountain of Truth, 
must be truth itself. 

" How small a part — of nothing, shall I say 1 
Are our chief treasure, friends," &c. 

Of " nothing," while perishable here, like the rest ; but of something, 
and that not a little, when we meet them hereafter in heaven. 

" Hope, like a cordial, innocent though strong, 
Man's heart at once inspirits and serenes." 

Hope, indeed, is a sedative ; but a sedative that doubles the elasticity 
of " man's heart," by the compression which it gives, and which the 
heart is ever ready to burst through, and to break the chains of its 
" tyranny," for a time " scarcely less" oppressive " than the overpower- 
ing ones of despair." Nay, still more so ; for despair has given the " coup 
de grace" to hope ; and without hope, what is life* ? 

Has not Young prepared us, if " grave," to be " graver still ?" and 
will not that " gravity" both " inspirit and serene ?" 

NIGHT THE EIGHTH. 

Page 85, before " Having enumerated," &c. 

" There's not a day, but to the man of thought 
Betrays some secret, that throws new reproach 
On life, and makes him sick of seeing more." 

* How much soever " hope" may be said to be, 
" The assassin of our joys." 



ERRATA ET DESIDERATA. 135 

And is life then given us only to be the continual object of our 
" reproaches V should they not rather fall on ourselves, for our misuse 
of life ? and may not both these reproaches be prevented, or at least ex- 
tenuated? Men of "business," and men of "pleasure," may both de- 
serve " approbation." 

The " beaten track" should be trod with candour as well as truth. 
But Young was addressing himself to " Lorenzo." 

" Ocean ! thou dreadful and tumultuous home 
Of dangers, at eternal war with man !" 

Life, alas !" is an ocean, and its state a " warfare ;" but a way to the 
" peace," unattainable here, of a future life. What elements, when 
" full against wind and tide," have we not to struggle with ! Can 
" Caesars" do it 1 No, they are " beaten down at last," and not always 
by " the rush of years." We may begin " Florellos ;" but in what do 
we end ? In having the " cover" of our disguise thrown off, and all our 
sins laid bare. 

What but the hand of grace will stay the rod ? 
What but the balm of mercy heal its wounds ? 

" If Wisdom has her miseries to mourn, 
How can poor Folly lead a happy life ?" 

Let " folly" be as " happy" as it will, the tears of " wisdom" will 
still be more " pleasing." They are not shed for crimes, but misfortunes ; 
and if for crimes, those of others, not our own. " Purity of thought," 
and " an humble spirit," wipe away all tears ; or at least, soften their 
bitterness. " Lorenzo" may " scorn," but he will " gnash his teeth," 
too ; and, not the less, for his being " seen," though that, for a while, 
may prevent his turning his eyes inward. If the conscience is clear, 
what storms can assail us ? Certainly not those of " detraction." But 
no " vanity" is long proof against these. 

" Is virtue then, and piety the same ? 
No," &c. 

Faith then must precede good works, (what folly, to confound 
" faith" and good works ! or to make one a substitute for the other !) but 
not be a substitute for them, for it only gives them " heart and sub- 



136 ERRATA ET DESIDERATA. 

stance ;" and without piety there can be no true faith ; nor can faith 
have any truth, unless it is founded in reason : for 

" Reason pursu'd is faith ; and unpursu'd, 
Where proof invites, 'tis reason then no more." 

But reason cannot do its duty, when perverted by pride ; when that 
emboldens us to " smile at piety," yet boast aloud 

" Goodwill to men, nor know we strive to part 
What nature joins; and thus confute ourselves. 
With piety begins all good on earth ; 
"lis the first-born of rationality." 

" Some we can't love, but for the Almighty's sake," &c. 
What a sacrifice of pride is here required ! Little as we know how 
much our self-love would be expanded, exalted, and justified by it; and 
how much " happiness" would be " built" upon it ! with what delight 
we should 

" To the great Founder of the bounteous feast 
Drink glory, gratitude, eternal praise !" 

All which proceed from the love of man, excited by the love of God. 

The love of others is the love of ourselves. In one sense, every one, 
be he our enemy or not, is an " alter idem." This will 

Promote our future, while it forms our present joy. 
This Young verifies in his picture of 

" What nothing less than angel can exceed, 
A man on earth devoted to the skies." 

The poet then says to Lorenzo, 

" And thou, Lorenzo ! bigot of this world I 
Wont to disdain poor bigots caught by heaven ! 
Stand by thy scorn, and be reduc'd to nought ! 
For what art thou ? thou boaster ! while thy glare, 
Thy gaudy grandeur, and mere worldly worth, 
Like a broad mist, at distance, strikes us most, 
And, like a mist, is nothing when at hand," &c. 

This simile is as bold as it is just. For the " mists" of " worldly" 



ERRATA ET DESIDERATA. 137 

pretensions are impenetrable but by the nearer view of reason, and not 
always then, unless enlightened by divine communication. This will 
make us see the difference between a false " glare," and the splendour 
of true " worth." The " bigots of this world" will be made to feel their 
inferiority to the converts of the next ; when their " brittle barks" are 
wrecked on the " rock of Sirens." Happy would it then have been for 
the Lorenzos, if they had been previously sunk in " annihilation." 
How blind had they been, in neglecting, in Young's admonitions, what 
would have " saved their fame, and made two worlds their own !" 

For this world is not all subject to " mammon." Sound reason, as 
well as piety, may make " a dunce" of " Satan." Young, T think, has 
established his right to call him so. 
Page 90, line 26.— 

" So grieve, as conscious, grief may rise to joy ; 
So joy, as conscious, joy to grief may fall." 
***** 

" 111 firmly to support, good fully taste, 

Is the whole science of felicity," &c. &c. 
A man is said to be in high spirits, when his spirits are in a state of 
effervescence ; but their exhaustion will leave nothing to make the calm 
agreeable that will succeed. To make wine preserve its flavour, it 
should not be shaken. Real happiness must be accompanied by feeling * ; 
without that, it is mere levity. Wine may be pleasant and brisk to the 
taste, without having any " body." So "joys" may be without " heart 
or substance." 

" Vain are all sudden sallies of delight; 
Convulsions of a weak distemper'd joy. 
Joy's a fix'd state ; a tenure, not a start ; 
Bliss there is none, but unprecarious bliss," &c. &c. 
Page 95, line 11, note to "resurgam," I shall rise again. 

NIGHT THE NINTH. 

Young says, speaking of his starlight contemplations, 
" Who can satiate sight 
In such a scene ? in such an ocean wide 
* And not agitation. 



138 ERRATA ET DESIDERATA. 

Of deep astonishment 1 where depth, height, breadth, 
Are lost in their extremes ; and where to count 
The thick- sown glories in this field of fire, 
Perhaps a seraph's computation fails." 

And who can " compute" such " depth, height, breadth," &c, where 
alL " computation" must " fail ?" He only knows, who made and who 
fills them. He who is himself extended through all extent, his know- 
ledge and power (such " wisdom" may well be " power !") are infinite, 
as his mercy, which " reaches unto the heavens," is great ; its greatness 
being only bounded by the justice which it "tempers." 

It is peculiar to our religion to combine the most awful denunciations 
of punishment of hardened sinners, with the most encouraging assurances 
of mercy to repentant ones ; and surely this must make the case of the 
impenitent much more desperate when they reject these assurances; 
though even to them the sentence will probably be modified by the 
powers and opportunities given them to attend to those assurances ; in 
all this, no doubt, all will be considered that is consonant with the justice 
and the honour of God ; and when we consider of these allowances, and 
of the mercy that makes them, can we reasonably doubt of the severest 
punishment being inflicted on those upon whom that promised mercy 
has no effect ? unless we are to suppose that the " madness of the heart" 
will in another world be considered in the same light as common lunacy 
is in this, where the " heart" can be so little known. Who then are we, 
that thus set limits to God's justice ? that say to it, " Thus far shalt 
thou go, and no farther?" That measure his omnipotence and all his 
attributes by our erring notions and desires ? Can either his promises or 
his threats be delusive ? He has veiled them both in uncertainty, it is 
true ; but he has not thrown a false colouring over them. We cannot 
conceive the possibility of a thoroughly hardened sinner (as I have said 
before), being either inclined to, or capable of, happiness in heaven. 
The power of God may make him so, no doubt ; but will his justice or 
his truth allow it 1 And is it any way consistent with the responsibility 
which must accompany the free agency of man, whose passions we 
know, of whom we know that, " humanum est" peccare, as well as 
" errare ;" and we can easily suppose, though we cannot know, the 
opportunities given him of " turning away from the wickedness that he 



ERRATA ET DESIDERATA. 139 

has committed," that he may " save his soul alive." But do we not 
continually see the renunciation of heaven, in the actions of the wicked, 
as well as hear it in their speech, if they do not positively declare it ? 
and can the justice of God do otherwise than take them at their word ? 
than give the retribution of punishment to their imprecations, instead of 
the mercy which he has promised to their prayers ? Young says, in his 
seventh Night, supposing, 

" A disregard in heaven 
What the worst perpetrate, or best endure," 
***** 

" Where are heaven's holiness and mercy fled ?" 

And, supposing the same disregard for what the worst perpetrate, as 
for what the best endure, we may ask, 

" Where are heaven's holiness and justice fled?" 

For its mercy and justice must be correlative to each other ; and he has 
told us so. This correlation is proved by future rewards as well as 
punishments being denounced as " cliqjvioi."* What then signifies 
cavilling about the meaning of the word 1 Can Dr. Southwood Smith's 
absurd, however well-meant, supposition of the number of infidels being 
increased by the severity of the denunciation, justify the cavil ? Take 
care then, ye sceptics, for God's sake and your own, take care ! 
***** 

" In every Storm that either frowns or falls, 
What an asylum has the soul in prayer !" 

How often must these lines occur to us, when we consider either our- 
selves, or the objects which this poem presents to our view ! 

The more effect Young's admonitions have, the more secure will be 
the influence of " Britain" over the rest of the world ; the more she will 
be "ruler of the waves," if she exercises that rule as she ought; if she 
makes a proper use of her means of doing it, and amongst others, of 
that " oak," of which the poet, perhaps, without much exaggeration, 
says, 

" The loud blast, that rends the skies, 
Serves but to root thy native oak." 

* Eternal ; and can they be otherwise, when " time is no more ?" 



140 ERRATA ET DESIDERATA. 

And this may be the best physical representation of the moral strength 
which is rooted in the virtues which this poem recommends. 

Page 110, line 20. — From " so much more," &c, to " their nature," 
should have been included in a parenthesis. 

Page 112, line 17, for " comprehend," read comprehended. 

This, " consolatory" as it is to those who attend to it, is the awful 
conclusion of Young's nocturnal prospects, in the "great day" which it 
announces, and, no doubt, faintly describes ; for what description can 
come up to the " melancholy roar" of hell, or the exhilarating " chorus 
of the skies?" or, if the sceptic will, the simple absence or presence of 
the source of all happiness, all joy, of which " His presence is the 
fulness?" Is not this, of itself, "eternal punishment?" And can we 
suppose that his justice will look with any complacency on the " im- 
purity of all iniquity ?" And what, O ye sceptics, can we know of 
" eternity?" what, but from the hopes or fears which our virtues or our 
vices give us ? O let us not throw a veil over either ! Is Young's 
" song" too daring for us " to read it ?" Do not our " hearts assert the 
truth he sings ?" Will the " scepticism of our heads," veil them as we 
will, soften the view of that " eternity," which, when the consum- 
mation arrives, must " reign alone ?" May not the illusions of scepti- 
cism destroy (in fancy) that " equipoise," which " even-handed justice" 
requires ? And is every man's opinion a perfect " court of equity," 
when " common law" will enable him to decide ? Will the mere view 
of the " worlds of glory," which Young's nocturnal contemplations pre- 
sented to him, seat us on the throne of Him who is the source and 
creator of them ? Let us humbly learn his will from a reasonable in- 
terpretation of his " word." Let us not indulge in speculations in which 
both " sight and thought are the more bewildered," the more they 
dwell upon them. There are " second thoughts." Consult yours too, 
and let them not lead you astray ! We can no more foresee the de- 
crees of Divine Justice, than we can measure the duration of the rewards 
or punishments which it denounces. Parties as we are, how liable are 
we to be biassed by our own expectations ! the rule of justice is here 
inverted ; what we " mete" to ourselves, we should, as far as candour 
will allow us, mete to others too. Let our reason, our unbiassed reason, 
temper the warmth of our hearts. If we are brave " to men," let us 
not be " braves to our God !" 



ERRATA ET DESIDERATA. 141 

" Thus an indulgent father warns his sons, 
Do this ; fly that— nor always tells the cause : 
Pleas' d to reward, as duty to his will, 
A conduct needful to their own repose." 

That God, then, is " our Father" too ; and how can he be less, who 
created us out of nothing? how much this surpasses mere generation! 
He is no less our Father, in leaving us our free agency, restrained only 
by his " injunctions ;" and reserving his punishments (for here we feel 
only his " chastisements") for those who " die in their sins." If he 
forbears to use his power in restraining the sins of men, it is because he 
leaves them to deserve his mercy or not, as their freedom of choice 
prompts them to do ; and he will even pardon the errors of that choice, 
if not wilfully and presumptuously run into. 

Young had said, 

" The grandeur of my subject is my muse." 

This, with the alteration of a word, and still more of the sense, is 
similar to Juvenal's — " Facit indignatio versum." 

Young's muse was, the admiration " of his subject," admiration only 
to be exceeded by love ; for which there are so many calls. How little 
do they feel it, who, like Lorenzo, 

" Can wake at midnight too, 
Though not on morals bent." 

And can make the very stars their " accomplices in guilt." 
***** 
" Wrath, pride, ambition, and impure desire." 

Ambition, as well as pride, is one of the terms which is most liable to 
be misconstrued, from the want of that precision in language that should 
connect every passion or feeling of the mind with the motive that in- 
spires it. Instead of this, the generalisation of them makes them appli- 
cable to very opposite feelings. A man may be ambitious of power, 
honours, even riches (for avarice itself is included in it), fame, &c. ; or 
he may be ambitious of that applause which may likewise be called for, 
and can only be attained by real merit, often manifested by the self- 
denial which is incompatible with a selfish ambition. This is the am- 



142 ERRATA ET DESIDERATA. 

bition which an honest man will feel, the " honest man" that Pope pro- 
bably meant to describe. This is the ambition that such a man may- 
well be proud of, without a wish to glory in it ; this is the pursuit of 
that " human praise" which Young well says, is not 

" Absolutely vain, 
When human is supported by divine." 

The latter will be the great object of the honest and well-meaning 
man, and the consciousness of deserving it will be to him an ample 
recompence, for the want or loss of human praise, little as " divine" can 
want its " support." Neither of these, indeed, can be obtained without 
that occasional sacrifice of self-interest which the good of others or of his 
country may require ; and such a man may say with Horace, and per- 
haps with more truth, 

" Mea 
Virtute me involvo, probamque 
Pauperiem sine dote qusero." 

Be this either ambition or pride, it is equally laudable, and equally 
compatible with humility, which, as Young says, 

" Man's lawful pride includes." 

Nay, they are inseparable, for the sense of his incapacity to obtain the 
objects worthy of ambition and pride to their full extent, must necessarily 
make a man humble himself before the power of him who possesses 
those objects to their fullest extent, and who alone can " swear by him- 
self," because he perfectly knows and can command himself, a know- 
ledge and command which can alone entitle and empower him to 
exercise it over all his creatures. To act up to this standard, indeed, 
requires that rectitude, both of head and heart, which is necessary to 
enable a man to " think right and mean well." If he can do both these, 
he is calculated to benefit society ; if he cannot, he must have recourse 
to him who will " require" no more of each man than " has been given 
to him," and whose mercy will make up the rest. That rest will be 
given by him on whom he can rely, who knows all our hearts, who will 
" strengthen such as do stand," will " comfort and help the weak- 
hearted," will " raise up them that fall," and will " finally beat down 
Satan under our feet." 

2 



ERRATA ET DESIDERATA. 143 

" Wrath" is generally offended " pride," which is sometimes coun- 
teracted by " ambition," in making it necessary to conciliate the good- 
will of others. " Impure desire" is well described by Cicero, in " quod 
est in juventute vitiosissimum." He might have added, in senectute 
contemnendissimum, si non " ablatum" fuerit. Such propensities are 
incompatible with our love of " that power," 

" Whose love lets down these silver chains of light, (the stars) 

To draw up man's ambition to himself, 

And bind our chaste affections to his throne," &c. 

" Wrath," too, is soon forgotten in contemplating 

" This 
Material picture of benevolence." 

" 'Tis comprehension's absolute defeat," — that is, what is visible to 
the eye, is incomprehensible to the mind. What could not have been 
conceived, is natural and easy to observation and experience. What 
then cannot Omnipotence do ? 

" Lorenzo calls for miracles, 
To give his tottering faith a solid base." 

" Seeketh for a sign, and no sign shall be given him, but" — the world 
of " signs and wonders" that he sees above, and all around him ; and 
that he may feel, if not dead to feeling, in himself. But what grows 
familiar to us, in time loses its effect upon us. We want to have our 
lazy, unfeeling, and torpid minds roused, to what at least would be a 
momentary feeling of surprise, though not of conviction and veneration *. 
The heart may have been previously hardened, or at least, may have 
lost much of its sensibility ; its feelings may have been debased by the 
objects of this world, and none left to be touched by any higher ; they 
may have been absorbed by present enjoyments, and may have no 
" affections" to " set on things above." A " miracle" to them would 
only be " a reproach," that would " censure," perhaps without satis- 
fying, the man who sees, 

" Nature's controller, author, guide, and end," 

* Like Lucretius's, 

" Cceli clarum, purumque colorem." 



144 ERRATA ET DESIDERATA. 

sees Him in his works, and needs no other miracle to move his feelings, 
or to convince his reason ; the man who sees and feels this, will know 
that 

" In every storm that either frowns or falls, 

What an asylum has the soul in prayer !" 

He will know too, that 

" The mind that would be happy, must be great, 
Great in its wishes, great in its surveys." 

These will make him sensible that though 

" God is a spirit ; spirit cannot strike 
These gross, material organs," 
Yet, 

" God by man 
As much is seen, as man a God can see, 
In these astonishing exploits of power." 

Such as 

" Lead in triumph the whole mind of man." 
Young had said (in Night Seventh), 

" Behold this midnight glory ; worlds on worlds ! 
Amazing pomp ! redouble this amaze ; 
Ten thousand add ; add twice ten thousand more ; 
Then weigh the whole," 

(Intreason's scales) " one soul outweighs them all; 

" And calls the astonishing magnificence 
Of unintelligent creation poor." 

This seems a bold assertion in Young ; but it is an estimate of the 
exercise of power, compared with that of benevolence. 

Power must be exercised to some purpose ; and to what purpose more 
admirable than that of beneficence ? 

" Man was made for glory, and for bliss." 

The " glory" is his Creator's ; the " bliss," and the " eternal weight 
of glory," which he will have in future, are his own. 



ERRATA ET DESIDERATA. 145 

This glory must be either in the contemplation of God's glory, or in 
the tribute paid by the intelligent creature, who alone can give it ; and 
it comprehends all " intelligent creation," though all the works of God 
redound to his " glory." His enjoyment of this may be called selfish * ; 
that of the " tribute" paid him, is the expansion of self-love into the love 
of all the beings who partake of the qualities of their great Creator, and 
this love, and the gratitude of his creatures, can alone put in action the 
qualities which He possesses, of universal benevolence, which is the soul 
of power. The sun, the animating life of creation, and without which 
what is done can have no value f ; for what can give true value to the 
wisdom of God, but the display of it in his goodness ? and where is true 
and perfect " goodness" to be found, but in God ? and how is that 
goodness to be shown, but in doing good ? which the Son of God, while 
on earth, " went about to do." Without this goodness, power can only 
be exercised for selfish purposes, and God would no longer be " good," 
were he influenced only by them. Man may well be exhorted to imitate 
the Being who contains in himself all the qualities which constitute per- 
fection, but who cannot taste the fruits of them, till they have been dis- 
played in the exercise of wisdom and benevolence. " God then is love ;" 
and by and for his love, man was created. This love is both man's 
glory and his bliss. The perfection of these resides in the Creator, who 
gives them to his creatures, that they may return with accumulated 
force to Himself. All proceeds from him, all returns to him, after a 
dispersion which comprehends all existence ; and throughout all exist- 
ence his glory, his beneficence, are spread. We may say with Young, 

* The enjoyment of an omnipotent, omnipresent Being must be 
" selfish ;" for in loving himself, he must love all that proceeds from 
him. Our self-love cannot have a greater expansion than his. 

f " Prime cheerer, light! 

Of all material beings first, and best ! 
Efflux divine ! nature's resplendent robe ! 
Without whose vesting beauty all were wrapt 
In unessential gloom ; and thou, O sun ! 
Soul of surrounding worlds ! in whom best seen, 
Shines out thy Maker ! may I sing of thee !" 

Thomson's Summer, 

L 



146 ERRATA ET DESIDERATA. 

" But wherefore this redundancy ? this waste 
Of argument ? one sets my soul at rest ; 
One obvious, and at hand, and oh ! at heart. 
So just the skies, Philander's life so pain'd, 
His heart so pure : that, or succeeding scenes 
Have palms to give, or he had ne'er been born." 

And every man who deserves a friend, will have his " Philander." 
To return to Night Ninth ; who can answer the question, 

" What am I ? and from whence ?" 

A question that can only be solved by the consciousness of existence, 
and that is feeling ; feeling that will raise us, as the " divinse particula 
aurse," to " something eternal." A rise that must take place, even if 
we begin from " nothing," which we can as little conceive. This chain, 
inextricable as it is, must end in the belief of a God. All disbelief of 
Him must be found in mere credulity, to the misrepresentations of 
others, and of our own " disbelieving" minds. 

" Those who wish religion true, believe it too." 

What shelter can we find, but in that belief? what "rest can our 
souls" have, without it? The greatest trust that we can have in God, 
does not over-rate either his power, or his other attributes ; and it will 
make us say of him, 

" I am, thy name ! existence, all thine own !" 

And, with Young, almost at least, 

" Creation's nothing; flatter'd much, if styl'd 
The thin, the fleeting atmosphere of God." 

So much stronger are the impressions made upon our feelings, than 
our reason ; if the former are guided by the latter, which will sanction 
what it cannot comprehend. And, indeed, we may say, that any works 
of infinite power, however great, are as nothing, compared to the in- 
finity of the power itself, which, inexhaustible as it is, must piobably 
be always going on in making, or at least consummating, what, when 
consummated, can never be on a level with its Creator. How vainly 
then do we endeavour to stretch our minds to that level, any more than 

6 



ERRATA ET DESIDERATA. 147 

in an acknowledgment of possibility. But how much nearer will they 
arrive to it hereafter, when man, already his image in his corporeal 
state, will be much more his image in his spiritual ! As we are, we are 
totally unable to conceive the nature of God ; but this we know, that he 
is just as well as merciful to his creatures, and just to himself; and 
that, without these qualities, he could not be God. Vainly might we 
" search" for him " on every side," and throughout all his works. But 
both our reason and our feelings convince us, that he is what is 
required, to make him the God of gods- To follow Young's enthusiastic 
flights, however just the incitement may he, would plunge us into that 
" night," in which he delights to lose himself, and to bewilder his 
readers, at the same time that he engages their attention, beneficially 
for them, if they will give it; and elevates their minds, if they are 
capable of it. But what is the diameter of " Saturn's ring," compared 
with that of the whole starry firmament ? which still, I think, cannot be 
immeasurable, measureless as is its great Creator. Young might well 
" mistake his road," in travelling through the vast maze of worlds 
celestial, " in search of the Builder" of such a world of wonders. Still 
he feels that 

" Humble love, 

And not proud reason, keeps the door of heaven ; 

Love finds admission, where proud science fails," &c. 

Love therefore has the master key, even of " God's own heart." How 
strange, then, that the poet should have " failed" to move this feeling, 
even in the " adamantine" heart of Lorenzo ! he is obliged to leave 
him to find that 

" By strong guilt's most violent assault, 
Conscience is but disabled, not destroy'd." 

This " final effort of his moral muse," ends with an address to Him 
who is sure to hear the united voice of reason and feeling, when ad- 
dressed to him " in prayer." 

Young says, 

" Sayst thou, the course of nature governs all ? 
The course of nature is the art of God." 

The common course of nature is so incomprehensible by us, except in 
L 2 



148 ERRATA ET DESIDERATA. 

its final causes, that we may well ascribe it to the " art," that is, the 
wisdom, " of God," which is evident to us in the final causes of his 
dispensations. But we are so governed by our attention to present 
objects, that we pay none to what preceded them. We consider the 
common, or current, " course of nature," as being self-produced (as we 
say, " that is a matter of course") without considering who must have 
pronounced the " fiat," and how followed the " fit." How the first im- 
pulse was given ; all power was surely required for this. And, addressing 
himself to Lorenzo, in Night Third, he says, 

" There's nought, thou sayst, but an eternal flux 

Of feeble essences, tumultuous driven 

Through time's rough billows into night's abyss." 

(Not the brilliant " nocturnal" display that Young was contemplating). 
What contemptible, what detestable folly and impiety ! To assign such 
" astonishing exploits of power" to " feeble essences ?" which can have 
no power whatever in themselves, " tumultuously" as they may be 
" driven," and therefore confusedly (which they certainly are not, but, 
on the contrary, most wisely arranged), into the all-confounding " abyss 
of night." This would indeed be " chaos come again." How fond 
must such reasoners be, of losing in folly what the little wisdom they 
were capable of might have gained ! Such is human pride and per- 
verseness ! 

Young, speaking of the celestial bodies, calls them, 

" The mathematic glories of the skies, 

In number, weight, and measure, all ordain'd." 

****** 

" Wisdom and choice, their well-known characters 
Here deep impress, and claim it for their own. 
Though splendid all, no splendour void of use ; 

Use rivals beauty ; art contends with power ; 
No wanton waste, amid effuse expense ; 
The great Economist adjusting all 
To prudent pomp, magnificently wise." 

A " wisdom" that affords as important a lesson to his creature man, in 
the use of his limited means, as it is necessary to the " great Economist" 



ERRATA ET DESIDERATA. 149 

himself, whose unbounded " means," without the " wisdom" and bene- 
volence that regulate his use of them, might ruin all the plans that his 
power had made. Infinite space gives him ample room for this, and 
eternity an equal duration of it ; but both are limited, for the best pur- 
poses, by his other attributes. These regulate the ambition of his 
creature man, which, when its impulses spring from a desire to rise, is 
one of his most powerful and dangerous temptations. It is then more 
or less selfish ; and if it is accompanied by a desire of doing good, that is 
more an after-thought than a natural impulse ; it is the mere suggestion 
of prudence, to further the purposes of his ambition. His natural im- 
pulses make his " charity begin at home," and, but for his better qua- 
lities, would never let it " stir abroad," so narrow is the circle, wide as 
it may seem in our view, that our passions move in. 

" Now go, ambition ! boast thy boundless might, 
In conquest o'er the tenth part of a grain." 

And what may that " grain " produce ? Disappointment ; and, per- 
haps, death here ; and misery hereafter. 

Reason is surely the highest faculty that an intelligent being can 
possess, and the different degrees of it must determine the different 
heights of that intelligence. It can enable the being to judge, more or 
less of things moral and physical, of probabilities, though not of cer- 
titudes, except by the senses which give it their evidence to judge from, 
or by some substitute for them, and by the power which it has of draw- 
ing consequences from that evidence, and also of forming analogies, 
which increase that power to a greater or less extent, by their nearness 
or remoteness ; and this power will depend on the acuteness, both of 
the reason and the feelings. But all these are only relative ; for when 
reason attempts to go beyond them, and to judge of things as they really 
are, she finds herself quite at a loss, and she is obliged to have recourse 
to the assistance which she has received in the information which has 
been given to her, and which has been addressed, as well to herself as 
to the feelings, which both stimulate and guide her in judging of truths 
which are addressed to them both, and which they, when properly 
made use of, enable the being who possesses them to judge of, in what 
is placed before him. The defect of either of these faculties creates a 
defect in the judgment; of reason, in not extending the judgment to 
what its powers make it equal to, or in extending it beyond that, from 



150 ERRATA ET DESIDERATA. 

the too little or too great value which it sets on its powers : of the 
feelings, in stimulating the reason to exert itself, beyond the reach of its 
powers, or in instigating it to pervert them. Any of these must lead to 
error, the first to scepticism, the second to fanaticism. Scepticism, when 
carried too far (for there is the scepticism of ignorance as well as of pre- 
sumption), ends in a doubt that amounts (for extremes meet) to universal 
rejection, as it did with the Pyrrhonists, who rejected every thing, be- 
cause they could fully comprehend nothing, and who had not the proper 
feelings to guide them. Wanting these, the reason becomes a victim to 
the tendency which it has, under the stimulus of the passions, to 

" Wrath, pride, ambition, or impure desire." 

All which may, I believe, be found in Pyrrhonism or Epicurism. 

Thus are reason and feeling equally necessary to each other, one in 
preserving us from bigotry and fanaticism ; the other from scepticism 
and infidelity ; in confining our conclusions to what we know, or in pre- 
venting their leading us into bigotry and fanaticism ; the other, in giving 
our hopes or our fears their proper direction, for all which, indeed, the 
mutual aid of reason and feeling is required, and the full benefit of it 
will only be felt, when the " full knowledge of the truth " is obtained. 
In the mean time, the " fear and trembling," counteracted as it may be 
by other feelings, which attends a state of ignorance, imperfection, and 
dependence on superior power and intelligence, is the proper state for 
man to remain in, till "death" has given him that "instruction," 
which will ensure his happiness or misery; which will give him heaven 
or hell. 

The enjoyments which aright use of our reason and employment of our 
time, and an attention to worthy objects, and a tolerable share of health 
and spirits will afford us, are more easily felt than described ; and when 
they are crowned by religious feelings, they open to us a prospect of 
future happiness, which is far beyond any description that can be given, 
or conception that can be formed. They alone can heighten the joys 
or alleviate the sorrows which this life may expose us to, and their 
efforts are heightened by communication, which will tell us, that 

" Divine, or none, henceforth our joys for ever." 
And that 

" Reverberated pleasures" (of converse) " fire the breast." 



ERRATA ET DESIDERATA. 151 

This communication must be " inter bonos," who will increase each 
other's " goodness," by mutual example, and the experience of the 
pleasure which goodness gives. 

" Teaching we learn, and giving, we retain 
The births of intellect," &c. 

And each is a foster father to his friend's children. Such a communi- 
cation may well be expected to continue in heaven, where it will have 
increased the number of " the chosen ;" and either by that, or the 
united enjoyment of still higher pleasures, we shall find that 

" Virtue alone entenders us for ever." 

For love there,' as well as here, will be the mainspring of our enjoy- 
ments, and for its source, we must look up to God. 

To what I have said of Mons. Lambert's system, I may add, that I 
think the extremest dispersion is not inconsistent with concentration, 
especially as we must, I think, suppose a comparative vacuum in infinite 
space, to prevent material existence from being commensurate with the 
Great Being who fills that space, or at least who is Omnipotent in all 
His works. There may be a time when, in the final consummation of 
all things, we may suppose the " kingdom" of " our Father which is 
in heaven " will be fully " come ;" when the works of the great Creator 
will be finished, and nothing left but the universal enjoyment of happi- 
ness, by those who are " chosen," or to whom mercy is granted. This 
will leave to Him, the exercise of the only attribute by which He is 
described in the gospel, " Love." Then will his kingdom be fully come, 
and the reign of evil be entirely at an end, its chief agents being con- 
signed to their merited fate, unless we are to suppose them too anni- 
hilated, for which however we have no authority given us in the Scrip- 
tures. But when all trial is over, and the final sentence passed, as 
represented by Young in his description of " Eternity," it should seem 
that nothing can subsist which will make any farther trial necessary. 
Sed " humanum est errare," et nescire ; sed credere, et sperare. For 
how great must be the mercy, that encourages that hope ! 



THE END. 



LONDON : 

GILBERT & RIVINGTON, PRINTERS, 
ST. JOHN'S SQUARE. 



153 



ADDENDA 



YOUNG'S NIGHT THOUGHTS. 



Page 30, line IT, for " in page 43," read, in page 44. 

Page 81, line 11, note to " combine*,'" 

* Invention is creation ; both, therefore, belong only to 
Almighty Power. 

Page 92, line 10, note to " what to avoid *," 

* The sense, then, of the "beam in our own eye," makes us 
wish to " pluck the mote out of our neighbour's." 

Page 93, line 4, note to " thing ive do *," 

* Any thing that we do in obedience to His commands, be 
it great or small, will add to our merit, but cannot add to His 
greatness. Let us not, then, pride ourselves upon the import- 
ance of our own estimations. 

Page 94, lines 22 and 25,* (note to). 

* I think that neither Frederic of Prussia nor Voltaire men- 
tions Young's Night Thoughts — They durst not. 



If, as is required of us, we can " give a reason for our faith," 
nothing more is necessary to authorise our fullest confidence in 
it. That reason must be in the evidence given for it, and in the 
natural desires and dictates of our minds. So shall we find that 

" Faith is not reason's labour, but repose." 



154 



ERRATUM 



EXTRACTS FROM CICERO'S DIALOGUES. 



Page 124, line 24, for "Faith founded on Heaven," read "Faith 
founded on Reason," 



EXTRACTS 



FROM, AND 



OBSERVATIONS 



CICERO'S DIALOGUES, 



DE SENECTUTE AND DE AMICITIA, 



TRANSLATION OF HIS SOMNIUM SCIPIONIS, 



WITH NOTES, 



By WILLIAM DANBY, Esq, 

OF SWINTON PARK, YORKSHIRE ; 
AUTHOR OF IDEAS AND REALITIES, &TC. 



LONDON: 



PRINTED TOR THE AUTHOR, 

AND SOLD BY J. G. & F. RIVINGTON, 

st. Paul's church yard, and Waterloo place, pall mall 
and J. & G. TODD, YORK ; & C. UPHAM, EXETER. 

1832. 



LONDON : 
GILBERT & RIVINGTGN, PRINTERS, 

st. john's square. 



PREFACE. 



Having elsewhere remarked upon the sublimity (particularly 
of the Somnium Scipionis) as well as simplicity and truth of 
reasoning, in Cicero's writings, I now venture to lay before the 
public a series of extracts from two of them, and a translation 
of the third, in all which I think that every reader of taste and 
feeling will agree with me, that these excellences are displayed ; 
and perhaps he will allow the justness of the observations I have 
made upon them. We see that Cicero's feelings as a Roman 
Senator did not prevent him from having higher views than any 
which those feelings could inspire ; and we may trust that he 
is now enjoying the rewards of his adherence to the "laws" by 
which he was to be "judged," and of his ultimate reference of 
the motives of human conduct to the approbation of the Great 
Ruler of the Universe, imperfect and erroneous as were his theo- 
logical notions, and unenlightened by that revelation which alone 
can communicate truths to us that are far above the comprehen- 
sion of man. This ignorance will, it may be presumed, atone 
for the errors of his moral as well as his religious opinions, and 
it will teach us to appreciate that revelation which tells us that 
our regards for our fellow-creatures, and our attention to our 
duties, must be sanctioned by our regard to the far more exten- 
sive and elevated object than any that patriotism or human 
attachments can present to us : for they must yield to the more 



IV PREFACE. 

sacred injunctions of the Gospel, in which we read that "God 
is no respecter of persons, but that in every nation he that feareth 
him and worketh righteousness, is accepted with him." This, 
we may be sure, will accord with every duty that man can owe 
to his fellow-creatures, and will attest the truth of that cause to 
which the Christian Martyrs were victims, as Cicero himself was, 
with far less suffering, to his endeavours to save his country from 
the ruin that overwhelmed it, and from which the milder tyranny 
of Augustus alone could raise it. 

As for the extracts which I have made from the two first of 
these works of Cicero, I hope my choice of them will not be 
disapproved of, unless my remarks on them are objected to, as 
interruptions of his interesting garrulity. I know not whether 
I may have substituted my own garrulity in lieu of his; but 
I think I may leave this to the candour of my reader. 

I cannot help adding, that as the dryness and repetitions of 
Cicero's Treatise "de Officiis" render it incapable of being ele- 
gantly translated, it would be most advisable to reprint the cor- 
rect, though homely translation of it, made in 1739, by Dr. Cock- 
man, Master of University College, Oxford. Those who know 
the value of Cicero's works, would find something more in it 
than what was merely "in usum Scholarum." 

Exeter, June, 1829- 



EXTRACTS FROM and OBSERVATIONS 



ON 



CICERO'S DIALOGUE DE SENECTUTE, 



ADDRESSED TO HIS FRIEND TITUS POMPONIUS ATTICUS. 



THE SPEAKERS, 

CATO MAJOR, SCIPIO, AND L.ELIUS. 



" Nunquam satis laudari digne poterit philosophia, 
cui qui pareat, omne tempus setatis sine molestia possit 
degere." (Cap. 1.) 

It would have been well if Atticus could have 
availed himself of this resource, or of the consolations 
which his friend Cicero offered to him. Atticus was 
an Epicurean ; he was indifferent to the public cha- 
racters of his friends (" pravos cives parum odit," was 
the reproach thrown upon him) however he might 
esteem that of Cicero ; and so little resource did these 
dispositions leave him, either in religion, or in friend- 
ship, with all the " moderation and wisdom" that 
Cicero gave him credit for, that he anticipated his 



sinking under the burthens of old age, by starving 
himself to death. Such was the end of a life devoted 
to present, though perhaps rational gratifications ; and 
no wonder, since he availed himself so imperfectly of 
the best consolations which this world or the next 
can afford. How vain are all accomplishments, how 
weak is self-reliance, when thus unsubstantiated and 
unsupported ! 

Cap. 2. (Scipio loquitur) " Senectus plerisque seni- 
bus sic odiosa est, ut onus se iEtna gravius dicant 
sustinere." 

May not we give Christianity the credit of allevi- 
ating this and other burthens of life ? Surely we may ; 
for what better supports can there be, than what true 
religion affords ? 

Cato, however says, " Quibus nihil opis est in ipsis 
ad bene beateque vivendum, iis omnis gravis est setas ; 
qui autem omnia bona a seipsis petunt, iis nihil potest 
malum videri, quod naturae necessitas afferat ; quo in 
genere in primis est senectus, quam ut adipiscantur, 
omnes optant ; eamdem accusant adepti ; tanta est 
inconstantia stultitise, atque perversitas 1 ." 

Sound philosophy is certainly in accordance with 
religion ; the latter gives its sanction to what reason 
suggests. As to our natural feelings, we wish to live 
to grow old, as being a continuation of our existence 
here ; we are dissatisfied with old age when it arrives, 

1 What a strength of mind had Cato's prompter, Cicero ! 



because it deprives us of the enjoyments which we 
had when we were young, and brings us nearer to the 
end of that existence, which, with all our " folly, in- 
consistency, and perverseness," we still wish for the 
continuance of. 

We find, however, on reflection, compensations for 
these and other evils of old age, which are justly and 
forcibly dwelt upon in the course of Cicero's treatise, 
and which, with a tolerable share of health, will make 
a " mollem etiam et jucundam senectutem." Of these, 
increase of knowledge, when properly made use of, is 
not one of the least that are confirmed by the pros- 
pects which Christianity opens to us : all those that 
nature and reason could dictate, are pointed out by 
Cicero. 

The examples which he mentions of Quintus Max- 
imus and Lucius Paulus, Plato, Isocrates, &c. and 
of his spokesman Cato, cannot indeed well be fol- 
lowed by those who are not gifted as they were ; still 
less that of Ennius, who, as he says, almost took 
delight in poverty and old age : but the charges which 
he mentions against the latter, of " disqualification 
for business, weakness of the body, privation of plea- 
surable enjoyments, and approach to death," he 
shows may be at least extenuated by those who have 
any faculties given to them by nature, and who will 
make a proper use of them ; in which, he says, we 
have only to follow nature, " a qua, non verisimile 
est, cum ceterae partes setatis bene descriptae sint, 

b2 



extremum actum, tamquam ab inerti poeta, esse neg- 
lectum 1 ." 

This provision of nature (or, as we should rather 
say, of the Author of Nature) is, he says^ in making 
our advance in life the means of acquiring wisdom ; 
for though " in summa inopia levis esse senectus non 
potest, ne sapienti quidem: insipienti autem, etiam 
in summa copia, gravem esse necesse est." 

Of this description of old age he gives a (perhaps 
not perfectly apt) illustration, by " ut Themistocles 
fertur Seriphio cuidam in jurgio respondisse, cum ille 
dixisset, non eum sua, sed patriae gloria splendorem 
assecutum : ' nee hercule,' inquit, ( si ego Seriphius 
essem, nobilis ; nee tu, si Atheniensis esses, clarus 
umquam fuisses.' " 

That is, " your country is not worthy to have a 
good citizen (or at least an illustrious one) in it, nor 
could you be illustrious in any country, even in Athens." 
This might be excusable, " in jurgio," as an approach 
towards Billingsgate ; but may not a man be a good 
citizen any where ? The plain English Billingsgate 
of Themistocles's answer seems to be " your country- 
men are a parcel of blackguards, and you are as great 
a blackguard as any of them." But Themistocles was 
an Athenian, 



1 O Reason, how forcible are thy suggestions, in favour of a future 
life ! But, O Faith, how necessary art thou to supply the defects of 
Reason ! 



After enumerating many of the higher studies 
(" divina studia") to which old age may still be equal, 
as was " Sophocles" and others, Cicero passes to those 
of agriculture, of which he makes Cato say, " quibus 
ego incredibiliter delector : quae nee ulla impediuntur 
senectute, et mihi ad sapientis vitam proxime videntur 
accedere." — (Cap. 15.) 

" Nemo est tarn senex, qui se annum non putet 
posse vivere ; sed iidem elaborant in eis, quae sciunt 
nihil omnino ad se pertinere. 

Serit arbores, quae altevi seculo prosint. 

Nec vero dubitet agricola, quamvis senex, quaerenti, 
cui serat, respondere ; ' Diis immortahbus, qui me 
non accipere modo a majoribus voluerunt, sed etiam 
posteris prodere.' " — (Cap. 7.) 

Very different this from some one, who being asked 
why he had not planted for posterity, replied, " what 
has posterity done for me ?" Cicero's (or Cato's) sen- 
tence indicates a return made to posterity (to whom 
alone, " sub Diis immortahbus," the heathens might 
suppose it could be made) for benefits received from 
those who had lived before. And how otherwise could 
that debt be paid, either to men, or to that Being, 
who overlooks the actions of men ? 

The desire of immortality makes us wish to con- 
tinue our existence here, in what we leave behind us : 
but can we suppose that no other fulfilment is reserved 
for us, of a desire so strong in, and so inseparable from, 
the mind of man ? and that the traces we shall leave of 



6 

our short existence here, will be the only veil between 
that and the " abhorred annihilation," the "thoughts 
of which," as Young truly says, 



-" blast the soul, 



And wide extend the bounds of human woe." 

But is it not strange, that with all the assurances 
that we can have of a future life, both from our own 
reflections, and the authorities that sanction and con- 
firm them, there should be so little confidence in our 
expectation of it ? The apparent reason is, that we 
cannot conceive it. 

Among the enjoyments of old age, Cicero says, " ut 
adolescentibus bona indole prseditis sapientes senes 
delectantur, leviorque fit eorum senectus, qui a juven- 
tute coluntur et diliguntur; sic adolescentes senum 
praeceptis gaudent, quibusadvirtutum studia ducuntur : 
nee minus intelligo me vobis (says Cato to his excellent 
young friends Scipio and Leelius) quam vos mihi esse 
jucundos." 

These considerations might well make him add, 
" ne nunc quidem vires desidero adolescentis, non 
plus, quam, adolescens, tauri aut elephantis deside- 
rabam. Quod est, eo decet uti; et quicquid agas, 
agere pro viribus." Who but must admire the exer- 
tions of Cato's old age, and the uses to which he ap- 
plied them ? And this, he says, may be done even 
in oratory ; for though he fears ' ' orator ne langues- 
cat senectute ; est enim munus ejus non ingenii solum, 
sed laterum etiam et virium :" and though " omnino 






canorum illud, in voce splendescit etiam, nescio quo 
pacto, in senectute;" yet, "decorus est sermo senis 
quietus et remissus ; facitque persaepe ipsa sibi audien- 
tiain diserti senis comta et mitis oratio." The benefit 
of this he clearly shows in the example and instruction 
it may hold out to youth, especially such youths as 
Scipio and Lselius, to whom Cato addresses himself; 
adding, " Quid enim est jucundius senectute, stipata 
studiis juventutis?" After instancing several ex- 
amples of this in Scipio's family, Gato says, " nee ulli 
bonarum artium magistri non beati putandi, quamvis 
consenuerint vires, atque defecerint ; etsi ista ipsa 
defectio virium adolescentiae vitiis efficitur saepius, 
quam senectutis. Libidinosa etenim et intemperans 
adolescentia effcetum corpus tradit senectuti." How 
true this is, those best can tell, who have most to 
repent of, in the sins of their youth. 

Cato goes on to apologise for the garrulity of old 
age in speaking of himself, then in his 84th year, and 
still equal to all the duties of civil life, and declaring 
that he never approved of the proverb, " quod monet 
mature fieri senem, si diu velis esse senex. Ego vero 
(says he) me minus diu senem esse mallem, quam esse 
senem antequam essem." The proverb seems to mean, 
that to insure an old age, we should previously use 
the prudence of it: which indeed agrees with his 
saying, " quod est, eo decet uti ; et quicquid agas, 
agere pro viribus." He says indeed, " Resistendum 
est senectuti, ej usque vitia diligentia compensanda 



8 

sunt. Pugnandum, tamquam contra morbum, sic 
contra senectutem." But the pugnare contra morbum, 
is remedia adhibere. And the remedia proposed by 
Cato, when old age is not " imbecilla propter vitium 
commune valetudinis," we see in what follows : 

" Habenda ratio valetudinis ; utendum exercita- 
tionibus modicis ; tantum cibi et potionis adhibendum, 
at reficiantur vires, non opprimantur ; nee vero corpori 
soli subveniendum est, sed menti atque animo multo 
magis ; nam haec quoque, nisi tamquam lumini oleum 
instilles, extinguuntur senectute." 

All this is excellent ; and the more it is attended to, 
in resisting the temptation of more immediate enjoy- 
ments, or sensual gratifications, the better. The con- 
sequences of having lived a life thus regulated by 
reason, is shown in the following admirable description : 

" Quatuor robustos filios, quinque filias, tantam 
domum, tantas clientelas, Appius regebat, et senex et 
caecus ; intentum enim animum, tamquam arcum, ha- 
bebat ; nee languescens succumbebat senectuti ; tene- 
bat non modo auctoritatem, sed etiam imperium in 
suos ; metuebant servi, verebantur liberi ; carum omnes 
habebant ; vigebat in ilia domo patrius mos, et dis- 
ciplina." 

The "metuebant servi" in the above description 
seems to require the correction of the " carum omnes 
habebant," with which indeed it but little agrees : 
but perhaps the metus servorum, slaves as they were, 
was rather awe than fear. 



9 

Cap. 12. " Sequitur tertia vituperatio senectutis 1 , 
quod earn carere dicunt voluptatibus. O prseclarum 
munus setatis siquidem id aufert nobis, quod est in 
adolescentia vitiosissimum !" After this, follows a 
condemnation of immoral pleasures, a detail of the 
fatal consequences they lead to, and a citation of the 
authorities against them. To which is added, " Quor- 
sum hsec ? ut intelligatis, si voluptatem aspernari ra- 
tione et sapientia non possemus, magnam habendam 
senectuti gratiam, quae efficeret, ut id non liberet, 
quod non oporteret." 

Who will deny this ? And if it is admitted, what 
reason have not we Christians to be thankful, that 
such a forced reformation is effected, and accepted ! 
Accepted, if accompanied with more voluntary addi- 
tions of our own. To make these, 

" Age should fly concourse, cover in retreat 
Defects of judgment, and the will subdue ; 
Walk thoughtful on the silent, solemn shore 
Of that vast ocean it must sail on soon ; 
And put good works on board ; and wait the wind 
That shortly blows us into worlds unknown, 
If unconsider'd too, a dreadful scene." 

All this is consistent enough with a moderate en- 
joyment of society. If age wants more, it wants still 
better resources. 

1 The four charges against old age (Cap. 5.) were " quod avocet a 
rebus gerendis" — " quod corpus faciat infirmius" — (of both which he 
has shown the futility) — " quod privet omnibus fere voluptatibus" — and 
fourthly, " quod haud procul absit a morte." 



10 

" Bene Sophocles, cum ex eo quidam jam affecto 
aetate qusereret, utereturne rebus venereis ? Dii me- 
liora, inquit." And well he might say so, if the en- 
joyments of the mind are superior to those of the 
body ; if not, we may 

" Envy every sparrow that we see," 

at least in that advanced stage of life, for which the 
habits of youth are, more or less, a preparation. In 
the early part of it, indeed, sense and sentiment may 
be mixed; and not improperly, when the union is 
sanctioned by reason and religion : in the latter part 
of life, tenderness may and ought to remain ; but cer- 
tainly without the turpitude of sensuality. 

The command of our passions must at all times be 
conducive to happiness; and still more when that 
command is made easier, as well as more becoming, 
by the decline of their ardour in old age, when they 
may be exchanged for much better enjoyments, with 
which they will not then interfere ; in youth, indeed, 
they are more importunate ; and when they are in- 
dulged, the comparison between the enjoyments of 
youth and old age will depend on that of those which 
reason or imagination can give ; but if they are op- 
posed to each other, can there be a doubt which to 
prefer, when we consider the value that " the highest 
faculty" in man must have, and the uses to which it 
may be put ? It gives a sanction to the highest sug- 
gestions that the imagination can form, when it is 
regulated by it ; when it is not, they are but delu- 

13 



11 

sions, and will leave nothing but regret, fruitless 
regret, behind them. 

What says Young in favour of Reason ? 

" From the soft whispers of that God in Man, 
Why fly to folly, why to frenzy fly, 
For rescue from the blessings we possess?" 

" Rescue," indeed! " Ridiculum acri," &c. 

" Ilia quanti sunt, animum, tamquam emeritis sti- 
pendiis libidinis, ambitionis, contentionis, inimicitia- 
rum, cupiditatum omnium, secum esse, secumque, ut 
dicitur, vivere ! Si vero habet aliquod tamquam pabu- 
lum studii atque doctrinse, nihil est otiosa senectute 
jucundius." 

The " secum esse, secumque vivere," reminds us of 
Young's 

" O lost to virtue, lost to manly thought, 
Lost to the noble sallies of the soul ! 
Who think it solitude to be alone ; 
Communion sweet ! communion large and high ! 
Our reason, guardian Angel, and our God ! 
Then nearest these, when others most remote ; 
And all, ere long, shall be remote, but these V 

(Sfc. Night 3d. J 

1 If a man is alone, his communings must either be with himself or 
his God : his " reason" should be his guide, his conscience must be his 
" guardian angel," though his conscience may sometimes mislead his 
reason ; himself he may deceive ; his God he cannot. If he is in society, 
his demonstrations must of course proceed from himself, and will be dic- 
tated either by his real feelings, or by a wish to deceive, or at least to 
gratify others by a forced complaisance with their inclinations ; or, 
thirdly, by the better feeling of a diffidence in himself. If by a wish to 



12 

But Young's praise of solitude is not exclusive, for 
he says also (Night 2d.) 

" As bees mixt nectar draw from fragrant flowers, 
So men from friendship, wisdom and delight ; 
Twins tied by nature ; if they part, they die." 
******* 

" Speech ventilates our intellectual fire ; 
Speech burnishes our mental magazine ; 
Brightens, for ornament; and whets, for use !" 
******* 

" In contemplation is our proud resource ? 
"lis poor, as proud, by converse unsustained." 
******* 

" Needful auxiliars are our friends, to give 
To social man true relish of himself." 
&c. &c. &c. 

Those who wish to do justice to the " Night 
Thoughts," should treat them as (with reverence be it 
spoken) they should the Scriptures, in comparing the 
different passages, and not judging them from what 
they may think the gloomy ones, however true these 
may be. If true, are they the less so, or less important 
to us, for our not attending to them? Young tells 
us, that he does not mean 



■ " to damp the joys of life, 

But to give heart and substance to its joys." 



deceive or gratify others, he may do it awkwardly for a time, but habit 
will give it an apparent ease, not readily seen through by those whom he 
addresses himself to, but whom he cannot long deceive ; if by the third, 
their reception of it will depend on their inclination and ability to do him 
justice. I believe these descriptions will extend to all situations in life. 



13 

And how? By considering what they are, and 
what is to follow them. 

After having given several examples of the supe- 
riority of mental pleasures, Cato says, " Quae sunt 
igitur epularum, aut ludorum, aut scortorum volup- 
tates cum his voluptatibus comparandae ? Atque haec 
quidein studia doctrinae ; quae quidem prudentibus, et 
bene institutis pariter cum aetate crescunt ; ut hones- 
turn Solonis sit, quod ait versiculo quo dam, ut ante 
dixi, senescere se, multa indies addiscentem; qua 
voluptate animi nulla certe potest esse major." 

He then speaks (Cap. 15, as before cited) of the 
" Voluptates Agricolarum," and gives a beautiful de- 
scription of, and encomium on, agricultural and horti- 
cultural occupations, and on the persons who had 
practised them, or treated of them. After this, he 
says, " Hac igitur fortuna frui licet senibus" — and 
goes on, as before, to enumerate the persons who had 
enjoyed it : concluding with " Habet senectus, hono- 
rata praesertim, tantam auctoritatem, ut ea pluris sit, 
quam omnes adolescentiae voluptates." 

Cap. 18. " Sed in omni oratione, mementote, earn 
me laudare senectutem, quae fundamentis adolescentiae 
constituta sit; ex quo id efhcitur (quod ego magno 
quondam cum assensu omnium dixi) miseram esse 
senectutem, quae se oratione defenderet. Non cani, 
non rugae, repente auctoritatem arripere possunt ; sed 
honeste acta superior aetas fructus capit auctoritatis 
extremes." 

Such an old age may indeed be properly considered 



14 

as a consummation (as far as an eartKly one goes) of 
what youth was a preparation for ; and to youth, as 
such, the admonition is properly addressed. Those 
who have thus "remembered their Creator in the 
days of their youth," need not the " praeclarum munus 
aetatis, iis auferre, quod est in adolescentia vitiosissi- 
mum." — By the account which Cato gives of himself 
(Cap. 14 and 15) he seems at least not to have carried 
the " mero caluisse virtus" to excess. 

He then mentions instances of respect being paid 
to old age, particularly by the Lacedaemonians, and 
even, though with much less consistency, by the vain 
and capricious Athenians ; and passes to some of the 
vices, or rather infirmities, incident to old age (which 
" habent aliquid excusationis, non illius quidem justae, 
sed quae probari posse videatur" — may rather be ac- 
counted for than justified) saying also " severitatem 
in senectute probo, sed earn (sicut alia) modicam ; 
acerbitatem nullo modo 1 . Avaritia vero senilis quid 
sibi velit, non intelligo. Potest enim quidquam esse 
absurdius, quam quo minus viae restat, eo plus viatici 
quaerere ?" " No, certainly not," in the eye of reason ; 
but as reason here cannot calculate, it may be better 
able to explain, than to direct the feelings ; which, 
however, if still equal to its functions, it should have 
some control over. If all the causes of avarice in 

1 This corresponds, in some degree at least, with what the French say 
suits old age : " La proprete, et l'indulgence," a union which Cicero 
would most probably have approved of. But the " modern Athenians" 
will hardly adopt (in practice at least) all his maxims. 



15 

old age are examined, it may perhaps be found, that 
" habet aliquid excusationis," and this may be an addi- 
tional reason for our being on our guard against it 1 . 

Perhaps our being less able to enjoy the use of 
money in old age, may be one inducement, no doubt 
among other less reasonable ones, to hoarding it ; not 
so much for ourselves, as for those who are to follow us, 
whose stewards Providence seems to intend us to be ; 
and this too may be a reason for our not giving it away 
during our life time. Thus is answered the design of 
Providence ; which, however, means that it should be 
under the control of our reason, and be counteracted 
by better feelings for our contemporaries. The selfish- 
ness of old age may in part arise from a sense of weak- 
ness. 

Cap. 19. " Quarta restat causa, quae maxime 
angere atque sollicitam habere nostram setatem videtur, 
appropinquatio mortis, quae certe a senectute non 
potest longe abesse. O miserum senem, qui mortem 
contemnendam esse in tarn longa aetate non viderit ! 
quae aut plane negligenda est, si omnino extinguit 
animum; aut etiam optanda, si aliquo eum deducit, 
ubi sit futurus aeternus. Atqui tertium certe nihil 
inveniri potest. Quid igitur timeam, si aut non miser 
post mortem, aut beatus etiam futurus sum ?" 

If we are intended to live again, as we certainly are, 
how can we be indifferent to the total loss of existence, 
as stated in this alternative ? But on the other hand, 

1 The " imbecility of reason," as I have called it elsewhere, may 
well be excused. 



16 

we see how far the heathens had got, in their expec- 
tations of a future life; but they did not see that 
something more than the mere suggestions of reason 
was wanting, to counteract the instinctive wish for 
self-preservation and the .continuance of existence 
here, powerful as that must still be. That that con- 
tinuance will take place in a future life, could only be 
confirmed by the Gospel, which alone can impress our 
feelings with a conviction that our reason can but im- 
perfectly attain. As to the mode of it, 

" The wide and boundless prospect lies before us ; 
But shadows, clouds, and darkness, rest upon it," 

only to be cleared away by " the great teacher, 
Death." 

Cato goes on to show the uncertainty of life, and 
the folly of hoping, even in youth, to live to old age. 
" Quid eirim stultius, quam incerta pro certis habere, 
falsa pro veris ?" (It may however be observed, that 
hope does not imply certitude, nor uncertainty false- 
hood.) " Senex, ne quod speret quidem, habet. At 
est eo meliore conditione, quam adolescens ; cum id, 
quod ille sperat, hie jam consecutus est. Ille vult 
diu vivere ; hie diu vixit. Quamquam (O Dii boni !) 
quid est in hominis vita diu ?" 

There is something of a play upon ideas, if not upon 
words in this reasoning ; for hope looks forward, which 
the young man may do, but the old one cannot : how, 
then, is the latter in the " better condition ?" He 
has indeed attained the object; but the " hope," as to 



17 

this life, is lessened, if not destroyed. Cato goes on, 
with more reason, to show the futility of this object, 
as it regards the mere continuance of life, and after 
giving one or two instances of longevity, he says, 
" sed mihi ne diuturnum quidem quidquam videtur, 
in quo est aliquid extremum. Cum enim id advenit, 
tunc illud quod prasteriit, effluxit : tantum remanet, 
quod virtute et recte factis consecutus sis." 

" Man's unprecarious natural estate, 
Improveable at will, in virtue lies ; 
Its tenure sure, its income is divine." 

"Breve enim tempus aetatis, satis est longum ad 
bene honesteque vivendum." 

All limited time, when compared with eternity, 
sinks to nothing. And can we suppose, that this 
power of comparison is given to us, merely to make 
us sensible of the nothingness of what we do, or can 
possess? O no, it is to make us look forward to 
something better. 

" Life has no value as an end, but means ; 

An end deplorable, a means divine ; 

When 'tis our all, 'tis nothing" &c. 

******* 
" Life makes the soul dependent on the dust : 

Death gives her wings to mount above the spheres." 

******* 
" Death has no dread, but what frail life imparts ; 

Nor life true joy, but what kind death improves ;" 

Which seems to be often anticipated in our thoughts 
c 



18 

on futurity, and our reflections on the past and the 
present time. 



-" Death is the crown of life 



Were death denied, poor man would live in vain ; 

Were death denied, to live would not be life : 

Were death denied, even fools would wish to die." 
******* 
" But grant to life, (and just it is to grant 

To lucky life) some perquisites of joy ; 

A time there is, when, like a thrice told tale, 

Long rifled life of sweet can yield no more, 

But from our comment on the comedy, 

Pleasing reflections on parts well sustain'd, 

Or purposed emendations where we fail'd, 

Or hopes of plaudit from our candid judge, 

When, on their exit, souls are bid unrobe, 
. Toss fortune back her tinsel and her plume, 

And drop this mask of flesh behind the scene." 

******* 
: ' O thou great Arbiter of life and death ! 

Nature's immortal, immaterial sun ! 

Whose all-prolific beam late call'd me forth 

From darkness, teeming darkness, where I lay 

The worm's inferior, and in rank beneath 

The dust I tread on, high to bear my brow, 

To drink the spirit of the golden day, 

And triumph in existence ; and couldst know 

No motive but my bliss, and hast ordain'd 

A rise in blessing ! With the patriarch's joy, 

Thy call I follow to the land unknown ; 

I trust in thee, and know in whom I trust : 

Or life, or death, is equal ; neither weighs ; 

All weight in this — O let me live to thee !" ' 

Night Thoughts, Night 4. 



19 

After this follows a beautiful comparison of human 
life with the course of vegetation, and the succession 
of the seasons ; and a farther mention of the advan- 
tages of old age over youth, when the means, which 
nature has provided for its final dissolution, have their 
full operation. 

Cap. 20. — " Omnium aetatum certus est terminus ; 
senectutis autem nullus certus est terminus." — Pro- 
bably not ; for the "senectutis maturitas" (Cap. 10.) 
can only be determined by the author of our being ; 
as in the case of Cato's son, " quo nemo vir melior 
natus est, nemo pietate prasstantior" (Cap. 23.) who 
may have fulfilled the purposes of his existence at an 
earlier period than we might suppose would have been 
required. 

" Ita fit, ut illud breve vitae reliquum nee avide 
appetendum senibus, nee sine causd deserendum est. 
Vetatque Pythagoras 1 , injussu Imperatoris (id est, 
Dei) de praesidio et statione vitae decedere." 

" Non lugenda mors est, quam immortalitas conse- 
quatur." 

No, but if one feeling did not take place, the con- 
solation of the other would not be wanted, as it cer- 
tainly is, to give any solid support to whatever argu- 
ments or examples may be urged by reason against 
the fear of death, which, considered as the extinction 
of our being (which it certainly is not) could only be 

1 And how much more does Young forbid it ! Dreadful Suicide, that 
murders both body and soul ! 

c 2 



20 

calmly met by insensibility. For as Young says, as 
before quoted, 

" Oh ! with what thoughts, 



Abhorr'd annihilation! blasts the soul, 

And wide extends the bounds of human woe." 

But Christianity tells us that we have not that to 
fear, and Cicero himself (loquente Cyro Majore) says, 
" Mihi quidem numquam persuaderi potuit, animos 
dum in corporibus essent mortalibus, vivere ; cum 
exissent, emori; nee vero, turn animum esse insipi- 
entem, cum ex insipienti corpore evasisset ; sed cum, 
omni admixtione corporis liberatus, purus et integer 
esse ccepisset, turn esse sapientem." 

This is the voice of reason ; and it has been con- 
firmed by the Gospel ; with this hope therefore we 
live ; in this hope we die. 

" Ut superiorum aetatum studia occidunt, sic occi- 
dunt etiam senectutis ; quod cum evenit, satietas vitae 
tempus maturum mortis affert 1 ." 

[Manet autem spes altera, studiis prsecedentibus longe anteponenda.] 

Cap. 21. — " Credo, Deos immortales sparsisse ani- 
mos in corpora humana, ut essent, qui terras tue- 
rentur," &c. 

1 When the mind has lost its activity, the " tempus maturum mortis" 
may indeed become, the " spes altera ;" however, what I have spoken 
of, will still " remain." 



21 

(Sic, in Somnio Scipionis, Cap. 3. 

" Homines sunt hac lege generati, qui tuerentur 
ilium globum — quae terra dicitur," &e.) 

" Si quis Dens mihi largiatur, ut ex hac aetate re- 
pueriscam, et in cunis vagiam, valde recusem ; nee 
vero velim, quasi decurso spatio, ad carceres a calce 
revocari." 

In this, every thinking man will join with Cato and 
Cicero : to the past we would not, and cannot return, 
nor can we remain in the present, fleeting as the 
moment is ; what then is left us, but to look forward 
to the future ; not so much in this life, for its remain- 
ing moments will be as fleeting, as the past or present ; 
but to a future, that will last for ever, and for which 
the present life is, or should be, a preparation. 

" Quid enim habet vita commodi ? Quid non potius 
laboris ? Sed habeat sane ; habet certe tamen aut 
satietatem, aut modum. Non lubet enim mihi deplo- 
rare vitam, quod multi, et ii docti, ssepe fecerunt. 
Neque me vixisse pcenitet ; quoniam ita vixi, ut non 
frustra me natum existimem : et ex vita ita discedo, 
tamquam ex hospitio, non tamquam ex domo ; com- 
morandi enim natura diversorium nobis, non habitandi 
locum dedit 1 ." 

No, certainly this is no " abiding place" for us ; 
but if we have spent our time well during our stay in 
it, it will prepare a happy one for us hereafter. As to 

1 What an assurance of future expectation does this contain ! And 
yet it was but an effort of philosophy : the general belief of the " poor" 
was not confirmed by the " Gospel" being " preached" to them. 



22 

the pains and pleasures of life (labores et commoda) 
they are mixed, and their frequent vicissitudes serve 
to give a mutual allay to each other ; and to beget a 
third feeling, which gives a sterling value to them 
both, or rather to the metal which they then compose l . 

Cato goes on to say, that amongst many of his 
predecessors, he shall, after his death, join the son 
whom he had lost, "quo nemo vir melior natus est, 
nemo pietate praestantior. Animus vero, non me de- 
serens, sed respectans, in ea profectd loca discessit, 
quo mihi ipsi cernebat esse veniendum," &c. 

Can Christianity tell us more than this ? Perhaps 
not ; but it has given us the assurance of it, and the 
foundation of a " Rock," to build it upon : we see 
here, that the first stone is laid by reason ; the 
tc corner stone" is Christ himself. 

" Si in hoc erro, quod animos hominum immortales 
esse credam, lubenter erro : nee mihi hunc errorem, 
quo delector, dum vivo, extorqueri volo." 

This is a persuasion suggested both by reason and 
instinct ; and if we are not to trust to that, confirmed 
as it is by the Gospel, to what are we to trust ? 

" Quod si non sumus immortales futuri, tamen ex- 
stingui homini suo tempore optabile est. Nam habet 
natura, ut aliarum omnium rerum, sic vivendi modum. 
Senectus autem peractio setatis est, tamquam fabulse ; 
cujus defatigationem fugere debemus, praesertim ad_ 
juncta satietate." 

Yes, but this satiety is only of what we have had 

1 A third feeling, in which all the "commoda" of life are included. 



23 

here ; we still wish for something further, at least if 
our feelings are of the proper kind ; if that wish was 
not to be fulfilled, which we are told from better au- 
thority that, it will, we should not feel it. 

Beasts lie down and die quietly; so does the body 
of man; both perhaps feel equally the necessity of 
repose, and of the absence of molestation ; but the 
mind of man is still in action, and often to the last 
moment. Ita, non est " vivendi modus." For that 
will not be the end, but rather the beginning of the 
mind's action, when separated from the body 1 . 

Hope, fear, or insensibility, attend our last mo- 
ments ; from hope or fear conclusions may be drawn, 
of what they arise from, and of what they forebode ; 
from insensibility no conclusions can be drawn, except 
that it is either the extinction of the thinking faculty, 
the absence of all feeling, or the last refuge of despair. 

Cicero's supposition of the possibility of the expec- 
tation of a future life being founded in error (" si in 
hoc erro," &c.) shews the necessity of a further assu- 
rance of it, than all the arguments of philosophy could 
give ; and it shews too, perhaps, that without an im- 
mediate and obvious analogy, no assurance could be 
gained by the Heathens : for though there was enough 
to interest and incline both the reason and the feelings 
in favour of that belief, still something more was 
wanting, to confirm the best dispositions in the expec- 
tation of it, and probably to connect that with the 
performance of the moral and religious duties : that 

1 " Mihi quidem," &c. — See page 20. 



24 

has been supplied by the Gospel, but without a com- 
munication of knowledge, which the human mind 
probably is not capable of, and which would have 
left no room for faith ; faith in the promises that 
are given, and in the authority from whence they pro- 
ceed 1 . 

Dr. Butler has made an able effort to supply the 
analogy, but not so perhaps as to dispel all doubt, 
and silence all opposition, in a matter, where the con- 
currence both of reason and feeling are required to 
produce conviction and agreement. Authorized, how- 
ever, as we are, we may say, as Cicero has almost 
made Cato do, 

Ut hyems, ita senectus ; 
Ut finis anni, sic finis vitae ; 
Ut ver, sic vitae renovatio ; 
Ut aestas, sic vitse novas fruitio ; 
Quae omnes autumni fruges in se continet, nullo hyeme rescindendos ; 
aestas enim ilia aeterna erit. 

We must not be surprised that Cicero has not 
touched in this work, upon the apprehensions that 
the fear of punishment after death may excite in the 
mind of man, as his object was to shew the consola- 
tions which old age is capable of receiving ; and so 
little does he enter into what are generally supposed 
to be the natural feelings of the mind, that he makes 
the alternative, of happiness after death, or cessation 
of all existence, one of the chief of those consolations. 
He might have learnt more from Socrates and Plato. 

1 So shall our faith be founded in reason. 



25 

But indeed the heathens had not then those feelings 
which Christianity afterwards inspired 1 . 

Cato's arguments in favour of the immortality of 
the soul, in Cap. 21, similar to those in the " Somnium 
Scipionis," are drawn from the properties of the mind, 
its inherent (as he calls it) power of motion ; its indi- 
visibility, &c. Against these 2 , we may oppose the 
power of God, as intimated in the Scriptures, to re- 
assemble the particles of our divisible bodies, after 
their dissolution : so unsatisfactory are all the argu- 
ments that are drawn from any supposed self-inherent 
qualities of the mind ; and that seem to make it in- 
dependent on the absolute will of our Creator, from 
whose promises alone we can expect a future exist- 
ence. 

But the reasoning, which this treatise shews the 
uninformed heathens to have been capable of, shews 
also the goodness of God, in not leaving them entirely 
without hopes, of which the confirmation was reserved 
for his Son, and those inspired by him, to reveal. 

1 And what could the " feelings" be, that made it a moot point 
whether there is a future life or not. 

2 I should rather have said, in concurrence with these. 



EXTRACTS FROM and OBSERVATIONS 



CICERO'S L^LIUS, or DIALOGUE de AMICITIA. 



THE SPEAKERS, 



L^LIUS, FANNIUS, AND SC^VOLA. 






After a short exposition of the reasons which had 
induced him to put these treatises into the form of 
dialogues, Cicero, addressing himself to his friend 
Atticus, says, " ut turn ad senem senex de senectute, 
sic hoc libro ad amicum amicissimus de amicitia 
scripsi." 

So well does he introduce the subject, not only to 
his friend Atticus, but also the " multis, quibus pro- 
desse voluit." 

Of Lselius's two companions, Fannius and Scaevola, 
the former, after mentioning Africanus, who had died 
only a few days before, as one, than whom " nee 
melior vir fuit quisquam, nee clarior," and making 
some observations on Lselius not having appeared in 
public since the death of his friend, says, " existimare 
debes omnium oculos in te esse conjectos ; unum te 

13 



27 

sapientem et appellant et existimant," — and " Hanc 
esse in te sapientiam existimant, ut omnia in te posita 
ducas, hiimanosque casus virtute inferiores putes." 
So is wisdom well described, if we add the proper 
reference to the Divine source from whence it pro- 
ceeds; without which it would be self-sufficiency. 
Laelius, after modestly disclaiming the preference 
which Fannius had given him for wisdom, over Cato 
and others, says, " Ego, si Scipionis desiderio me 
moveri negem — certe mentiar. Moveor enim, tali 
amico orbatus, qualis, ut arbitror, nemo umquam erit : 
et, ut confirmare possum, nemo certe fuit. Sed non 
egeomedicina ; me ipse consolor, et maxim e illo solatio, 
quod eo errore careo, quo, amicorum decessu, plerique 
angi solent. Nihil enim mali accidisse Scipioni puto ; 
mihi accidit, si quid accidit. Suis autem incommodis 
graviter angi, non amicum, sed seipsum amantis est." 

This certainly is heroic self-disregard ; but the pain 
we feel on our friends' account, must surely revert on 
ourselves ; what else is sympathy 1 ? 

But this " solatium" of Lselius's, to account for its 
early effect in removing his grief for the loss of his 
friend (or at least in so powerfully alleviating it) must, 
as well as the exclusio " mali," be referred, as pro- 
bably was done by him, to the same Divine source ; 
for how are " error" and " evil" to be excluded or 



1 The " sympathy" of human nature, in this world. But such 
friends may well hope to meet in another, as Christianit y has assured 
them they will. 



28 

opposed, but by Him, from whom all wisdom, truth, 
and good proceed ? and surely this reference is further 
shewn in what follows ; for, continues Lselius, " Cum 
illo quis neget actum esse praeclare ?" 

" Et a quo actum, nisi a Deo?" 

" Nisi enim (quod ille minime putabat) immortalitatem 
op tare vellet, quid non est adeptus, quod homini fas 
esset optare ?" 

The "immortality" which Scipio (as Lselius says) 
did not look for, was only that which the "praise of 
man" can give, and to which indeed the beautiful 
enumeration given by Laslius of Scipio's virtues, 
shews he was entitled : but an immortality of a far 
higher kind is pointed out by Laelius, when he says, 
" neque enim assentior iis, qui haec nuper disserere 
cceperunt, cum corporibus simul animos interire, atque 
omnia morte deleri." 

With this persuasion (" quod item Scipioni videba- 
tur") and with the confirmation we have received of 
its truth, we may say with Young, " or life or death 
is equal." 

A man values, or ought to value his existence ac- 
cording to the power it gives him to live in a manner 
worthy of his nature, which Young truly says, " No 
man can o'er-rate ;" and of the sense of his relation to 
the Almighty Being who created him : the value he 
sets on his existence, and on the feelings which the 
sense of that relation excites, should surely make him 
wish for a continuation of the one (with submission 



29 

however to the Divine will) and a nearer approximation 
to the other, source as it is of the noblest feelings of 
his mind : who then will not say with Socrates, Scipio, 
and Cicero, " animos hominum esse divinos, iisque, 
cum e corpore excessissent, reditum in ccelum patere, 
optimoque et justissimo cuique expeditissimum." 

If any thing could add to the force of the persua- 
sions mentioned by Lselius, it must have been the 
cessation of existence on earth, of one, " quern esse 
natum et nos gaudemus, et haec civitas (Rome), dum 
erit, laetabitur." So shall the best feelings of those 
creatures, whom God has created in his own image, 
be, authorized as they are by his own revelations, the 
vouchers of their future existence in another and a 
better world. " Quamobrem, cum illis quidem op- 
time est actum." 

What a force too do the feelings of friendship (to 
go on with Cicero and Lselius) add to all the above ! — 
"recordatione nostrae amicitiae sicfruor, ut beate vixisse 
videar, quia cum Scipione vixerim ; quocum mihi con- 
juncta cur a de re public a et de privata fuit, quocum 
et domus, et militia communis; et (id, in quo est 
omnis vis amicitiae) voluntatum, studiorum, senten- 
tiarum, summa consensio." — And shall not this " con- 
sensio" be renewed and perpetuated, in an " enten- 
derment" that will last "for ever?" It will, the 
consensio animorum being concentrated (if concen- 
tration can be in infinity) in one great object, and that 
object the sum and source of all perfection. 

This mention of a friendship of which Lselius said, 



30 

" Amicitiae nostras memoriam spero sempiternam fore," 
induces Fannius and Scaavola to press him to declare 
to them his sentiments regarding human friendships ; 
to which, after a modest confession of his insufficiency 
for the discussion of the subject, he says, "Ego vos 
hortari tantum possum, ut amicitiam omnibus rebus 
humanis anteponatis ; nihil est enim tarn naturae 
aptum, tarn conveniens ad res vel secundas vel ad- 
versas. Sed hoc primum sentio ; nisi in bonis, ami- 
citiam esse non posse." — In this his first position, 
Laslius is surely right ; and not less so, in rejecting 
the opinion of those, "qui haec subtilius disserunt, et 
ad vivum resecant ;" for their insisting upon a wisdom, 
which, as Laslius says, " adhuc mor talis nemo est 
consecutus," as bemg necessary to friendship, and 
even to form the " vir bonus," tended much less " ad 
communem utilitatem," than to gratify their own 
pride, which might perhaps make them consider them- 
selves as the possessors of that wisdom, or at least that 
it was the attainable object of their philosophy; little 
were they aware, that this is not the wisdom that 
" cometh from above," and of which Lactantius more 
truly says, " Sapientia non in sermonis ornatu sed in 
corde atque sensu est." If the heart is right, the head 
will be so too ; and so far indeed these philosophers 
seem to agree with Lactantius ; and not improbably 
also in their general estimation of human nature. 

Laelius goes on " pingui Minerva," as he says, in 
making " fidelity, integrity, equity, liberality," the 
tests of his "wise and good men:" "quia sequantur 



31 



(quantum homines possunt) naturam" (the Christian 
would say, the precepts of the Gospel) " optimam bene 
vivendi ducem. Sic enim mihi perspicere videor, ita 
natos esse nos, ut inter omnes esset societas quaedam ; 
major autem, ut quisque proxime accederet : itaque 
cives potiores quam peregrini ; et propinqui, quam 
alieni ; cum his enim amicitiam natura ipsa peperit." 
But he makes the bonds of friendship necessary to 
give " firmness" to those of society : " quia ex pro- 
pinquitate benevolentia tolli potest, ex amicitia non 
potest." 

Here the superiority of Christianity shews itself, in 
enjoining the extension of benevolence, not only to 
relatives, friends, and neighbours, but to enemies; 
without which, indeed, there cannot be what Laelius 
calls " omnium divinarum humanarumque rerum 
summa consensio." A consension, which, if perfect, 
would put an end to all enmity ; instead of being, as 
Christianity enjoins, its antidote and corrective ; more 
than which, in the present state " rerum humanarum," 
it cannot be 1 . 

Lselius however establishes this consensio among 
those who are the most, or rather alone, capable of it ; 
for he says, " Qui in virtu te summum bonum ponunt, 
praeclare illi quidem ; sed hsec ipsa virtus amicitiam et 
gignit, et continet ; nee, sine virtute, amicitia esse 
ullo pacto potest." 

1 Who but a Christian can " love his enemies ?" Who else can hope 
to be a friend with them, in heaven ? The dross of human passions 
will be all refined away, there. 



32 



And in what can there, must there be, a permanent 
" consensio," but in an object which embraces all the 
interests of mankind ? and how is it, that our passions 
make us overlook it ? To what an extreme does the 
" Humanum est errare" extend ! 

After enumerating the Paulus's, Cato's, &c. as ex- 
amples of this, he says, " Tales inter viros amicitia 
tantas opportunitates habet, quantas vix queo dicere." 
No, it could only be told us by the Gospel ; and in the 
precept, " Do to all others as ye would they should 
do unto you 1 ." 

The opportunities of conversing and acting on such 
a subject, and in such a cause as that of virtue, are 
certainly more than we can either tell or foresee ; 
for every hour may bring occasions for them, either in 
what regards ourselves, or others ; and every passing 
hour in which those opportunities are taken, will give 
us a fresh impulse to look forward to the final reward 
that virtue, and the attribution of it to its proper 
source, Religion, presents to our view ; if it is " its 
own reward" now, it is chiefly in the hope it gives of 
a still better reward hereafter : for how else is the sen- 
timent to be excited ? 

Such characters as the Paulus's, Cato's, Scipio's, &c. 
ennobled the times in which they lived. 

Then follows a most beautiful description of the 
advantages and enjoyments of friendship, " confidence, 
sympathy," &c. as embracing and surpassing all that 

1 This leaves no room for enmity, 



33 

riches, power, honours," &c. can give ; and concluding 
with " et secundas res splendidiores facit amicitia, et 
adversas, partiens communicansque, leviores." 

" Yerum amicum qui intuetur, tamquam exemplar 
aliquod intuetur sui." Self-love then, the great 
moving principle, is reflected and doubled by this 
contemplation or intuition. 

" Si exemeris ex natura rerum benevolentias con- 
junctionem, nee domus ulla, nee urbs stare poterit : 
ne agri quidem cultus permanebit." 

The happiness of all society depends upon mutual 
good will; of which friendship is the concentration 
and completion. 

" Quanta vis amicitiaa concordiasque sit, ex dissen- 
sionibus atque discordiis percipi potest." 

Here, however, no greater power nor praise can be 
assigned to friendship, than in its being opposed to , 
and counteracting (and that perhaps only for a time) 
the evils of its opposites, enmity and discord ; which 
the universal benevolence, the " good-will towards 
man," recommended by the Gospel, will not only check 
or oppose, but, if practised, totally eradicate. If the 
passions, and mistaken interests of mankind make 
this benevolence impracticable in its utmost extent, 
any dereliction of it will shew its excellence, in the 
consequences which that dereliction will bring on our- 
selves. The " friendship" of the heathens is, on a 
smaller scale, what the " charity" of the Gospel is on 
an unlimited one. The practice of both will perhaps 
depend on the moral, and possibly the constitutional 



34 

qualities possessed by each individual; all however 
must see their excellence. 

This charity (caritas, x a 9 1 ^) indeed is not ill des- 
cribed by Lselius under the name of Love (" amor, 
ex quo amicitia nominata") which he says is " prin- 
ceps ad benevolentiam conjungendam ;" being " anti- 
quior et pulchrior, et magis a natura ipsa, profecta," 
than from any sense of utility in friendship, from 
mutual assistance to mutual weakness, or than, any 
other demonstrations, which are often given and re- 
ceived by those " qui simulatione amicitia? coluntur, 
et observantur causa temporis : in amicitia autem nihil 
fictum, nihil simulatum ; et quicquid in ea est, id est 
verum et voluntarium. Quapropter, a natura mihi vide- 
tur potius, quam ab indigentia, orta amicitia, et appli- 
catione magis animi cum quodam sensu amandi, quam 
cogitatione, quantum ilia res utilitatis esset habitura." 

Thus is the disposition to love implanted in us, 
prior to, and independent of, any thing arising from 
the circumstances we are in : and it is to this that 
the Gospel probably appeals in enjoining the duties 
of charity ; for without such a disposition to appeal 
to, the injunction, we may presume, would hardly 
have been given. What then philosophy, from the 
mouth of Lsglius, or the pen of Cicero, has delivered 
to us, has been confirmed by an authority, which we 
justly consider as divine. — Lselius then goes on to 
notice the " sensus amandi," as being observable in 
beasts, particularly in their love of their young ; and 
as being much more evident in man : " primum ex 



85 



e|i caritate, quae est inter natos et parentes ; quae 
dirimi, nisi detestabili scelere, non potest; deinde, 
cum similis sensus exstitit amoris, si aliquem nacti 
sumus, cujus cum moribus et natura congruamus, 
quod in eo quasi lumen aliquod probitatis et virtutis 
perspicere videamur : nihil est enim amabilius virtute ; 
nihil quod magis alliciat ad diligendum ; quippe cum, 
propter virtutem et probitatem, eos etiam, quos num- 
quam vidimus, quodam modo diligamus 1 ." — Of which, 
either in those, or any other times, instances may be 
cited, in the impressions, favourable or unfavourable, 
according to our estimation of their characters, which 
are made on our minds, either in reading their works, 
or what is recorded of them. — Laalius then says, " If 
the power of virtue is so great, as to induce us to love 
it in those whom we never saw, and even in an enemy, 
what wonder, if our minds are affected by the same 
quality in those, with whom we are conversant in life ? 
and though this sentiment is confirmed * beneficio 
accepto, et studio perspecto, et consuetudine adjuncta,' 
(by benefits received, attention, observation and habit) 
yet, if it is attributed to the sense of our weakness, 
and the advantages we may reap from the good qua- 
lities of others, in our intercourse with them, all its 
nobleness and generosity will be taken away from it." 
The error of the reasoning condemned by Laalius 
seems to be, in making that an affair of calculation, 

1 O congeniality, how valuable art thou, when so produced ! This is 
indeed the 



-" Virtue, that entenders us for ever. 
D 2 



36 

which must be an affair of sentiment 1 ; and even the 
desire of increasing our good qualities, implies our 
possessing them already in some degree ; what winder 
then, that we should desire the increase of what must 
give us such solid satisfaction ? This is true self-love, 
but not self-interest ; and to confound them with each 
other, is no less a blasphemy against our Maker, than 
it is a calumny upon our nature 2 . Our best impulses 
are from God ; the perversion of them from our pas- 
sions ; our first "instigations" can hardly be from 
" the Devil ;" we must hope that even a Calvinist 
would not say that. As to the mind being " humilis 
et minime generosus," when thus deprived of its best 
qualities, the pride of philosophy needed not to have 
urged that as its chief argument. But it could soar 
no higher 3 . 

Cicero's reasoning, just as it is, shews how imper- 
fect all morality must be, unless refined and exalted 
by religion, without which the brightest displays of 
human virtue are, in truth, but " shining sins." For 
what motive is left, but pride ? Or, if they are exempt 
from that, and spring from better sources, how do 
they accord with the use of reason, which is often little 
apparent in other actions that accompany them ? 

1 Yes ; but " sentiment" may arise from a sense of interest — what 
feeling does not "begin at home, stir abroad" as it may ? Self-love 
and social then are, or ought to be, the same. 

2 The worth of each individual may depend greatly upon the pro- 
portion that these bear to each other. 

3 Philosophy must keep its own level. 



37 

Without that use, the impulses they proceed from 
are often unaccompanied with religious feelings, or if 
they have that accompaniment, it only serves to lead 
them more astray. As to pretended, or interested 
friendships, they are sure, sooner or later, to be de- 
tected; for there is as much inconsistency in false- 
hood, as uniformity in truth. 

" Quod si ita esset ; ut quisque minimum in se esse 
arbitraretur, ita ad amicitiam esset aptissimus ; quod 
longe secus est." " For," says Lselius, " the more con- 
fidence a man has in himself, the more that confidence 
is confirmed, and the more he is rendered indepen- 
dent on others, by the virtue and wisdom which he 
possesses, the more he will be disposed to seek and to 
cultivate friendship," which was the case between 
Africanus and himself 1 . It appears, I think, from 
what is last said, that the confidence which a man has 
in himself, that is, in his being worthy of an union 
with others whose qualities resemble his own, is the 
first incitement to form a friendship with them, and 
begets a sympathy and congeniality between them, 
w T hich is the strongest bond of that friendship : the 
enjoyment and benefit of this is mutual, and the 
friendship is formed and cemented by the instinctive 
feeling of it, but not from any calculation of advantage 
to be derived from it. Mutual worth, and mutual 
dependence, are the best foundations of friendship ; 

1 Each of them was an "alter idem" to the other. 



38 

and the consciousness of both, and of dependence 
upon a higher power, its best security. 

" Ab iis, qui pecudum ritu ad voluptatem omnia re- 
fer unt, longe dissentimus." And well might he dis- 
claim such brutal sensuality, as applicable to man ; 
however, even in the " pecudum ritus," we should 
perhaps have a somewhat higher idea of what has 
been given to them by their Creator, to answer and 
ameliorate the purposes of their existence : in this 
view, the " voluptas" may be considered as a sort and 
degree of happiness 1 ; much inferior however to that 
which, mixed as it is with troubles, man is capable of 
and is born for. 

" Sic et utilitates ex amicitia, maxima? capiuntur ; 
et erit ejus ortus a natura, quam ab imbecilitate, et 
gravior et verior ; nam, si utilitas amicitias congluti- 
naret, eadem commutata dissolveret 2 : sed quia natura 
mutari non potest, idcirco veras amicitiae sempiternse 
sunt." (Cap. 9.) 

Utility then is the end of this, as of the other dis- 
pensations of the Author of Nature ; though it is not 
always the immediate motive that actuates his crea- 
tures, to whom he has given instincts that properly 
used (in beasts they must, in man they may) will 



1 Is not this evident in the fidelity of the dog or horse, the playful- 
ness of the lamb, &c. ? 

2 Yes, if the "utilitas" was not of a superior kind. But how imper- 
fect language is ! 



39 

promote their happiness, the chief object, as it is the 
chief glory, of his works. 

" Ille (Scipio) quidem nihil difficilius esse dicebat, 
quam amicitiam usque ad extremum vitae permanere." 
(Cap. 10.) 

Does not the truth of this shew the benevolent in- 
tent of our Creator, to raise our desires to what is 
more permanent, after the temporary ends of our 
existence here, in promoting our mutual happiness, 
have been answered ? For which " summi puerorum 
amores ssepe una cum praetexta ponerentur." This 
change too may be made, either " adversis rebus," or 
" setate ingravescente 1 ," 

Laehus proceeds to shew how friendships are liable 
to be abused or forfeited either by rivalry, or " cum 
aliquid ab amicis, quod rectum non esset, postulare- 
tur ;" and how far they ought to be carried, with the 
justice due to ourselves, still more than to others. 

" Hsec ita multa, quasi fata, impendere amicitiis, ut, 
omnia subterfugere, non modo sapientise, sed etiam 
felicitatis, diceret sibi videri." 

There is then an object, higher and surer, than 
earthly friendships ; if not, why " omnia subterfu- 
gere?" That object is, our own and our Creator's 
approbation. 

The question " quatenus amor in amicitia pro- 



1 When all are (nearly) gone, but the " amor divinus," 
" On some fond breast," however, &c. 
But still there is a looking forward to a heavenly reunion. 

6 



40 

gredi debeat," is well discussed in Cap. 11, and the 
danger of carrying it too far strikingly shewn in the 
case of C. Blosius, the friend and adherent of Tib. 
Gracchus. 

" Nulla est igitur excusatio peccati, si amici causa 
peccaveris ; nam, cum conciliatrix amicitiaa virtutis 
opinio fuerit, difficile est amici tiam manere, si a virtute 
defeceris." 

This is most true ; and it is equally true, that 

" Virtue alone is happiness below." 

Virtue sanctioned and confirmed by religion. 
" Perfecta sapientia rectum statuere," belongs only 
to Almighty wisdom. 

Of several persons whom Lselius mentions as models 
in the choice of a friend, he says, " ne suspicari 
quidem possumus, quemquam horum ab amico quip- 
piam contendisse, quod contra fidem, contra jusjuran- 
dum, contra rempublicam esset. Nam hoc quidem in 
talibus viris quid attinet dicere, si contendisset, scio 
impetraturum non fuisse? Cum illi sanctissimi viri 
fuerint: seque autem nefas sit, tale aliquid et facere 
rogatum, et rogare." 

With this, and this alone, there will be perfect con- 
fidence in friendship ; when both look up to the. same 
law, and are under the controul of the same prin- 
ciple ; a principle equally sacred, equally efficacious 
in all times, and under all circumstances : if not in 
obtaining the immediate object of men's desires, yet 
in securing their real and permanent interests. For 



41 

what will compensate the loss of our own esteem and 
self-approbation ? Or, in the higher and more autho- 
ritative and impressive language of Scripture, " What 
profiteth a man, if he gain the whole world, and lose 
his own soul ? Or what shall a man give in exchange 
for his soul ?" 

Laelius afterwards says, " eo loco, Fanni et Scaevola, 
locati sumus, ut nos longe prospicere oporteat futuros 
casus reipublicae. Deflexit enim jam aliquantulum de 
spatio curriculoque consuetudo majorum." 

Well might he say so, after the temporary success of 
Tiberius Gracchus's ambitious attempts, and in the 
uncertainty there then was, of what the tribunate 
of Caius Gracchus might produce : and still greater 
reason had Cicero afterwards to say, " serpit deinde 
res ; quae proclivius ad perniciem, cum semel ccepit, 
labitur. Plures enim discent, quemadmodum haec 
fiant, quam quemadmodum his resistatur." — So it may 
be said of all similar times ; and so little power have 
men, in resisting the progress of national decay; 
Cicero did resist it, and with success, against Catiline ; 
but he afterwards fell a victim to it, when the ruin of 
the republic was completed by Caesar and Antony ; 
when " suis et ipsa viribus Roma ruit." — Augustus 
restored the prosperity of Rome, but could not restore 
its virtue. 

" Mihi autem non minori curae est, qualis respub- 
lica post mortem meam futura sit, quam qualis hodie 
sit." 

How nobly does Laelius, and Cicero with him, ex- 



42 

press the " ruling passion," which no doubt was 
their last feeling, " strong in death." — " Oh save my 
country, Heaven !" 

For, with the sentiments that both expressed, they 
would not exclaim with Brutus, that " virtue was but 
a name." The suicide indeed of Brutus indicated no 
other reliance but on his own and his party's exertions ; 
and perhaps, amiable as the character of Brutus was, 
it betrayed a feeling in which self was predominant ; 
at least at that moment ; a moment of despair, and 
of — insanity. 

How frail is the confidence which men have in 
human speculations or exertions ! 

Brutus put an end to his life because he could not 
save his country: •• Coriolanus and Themistocles" 
fought against theirs, because they had been treated 
with ingratitude ; did not they all desert their posts ? 
or was the post of Brutus untenable ? 

" Mortem sibi, 

et unus et alteri " consciverunt :" sed pro patria, nee unus, nee 
alteri." 

Lselius's fears that the " improborum consensio," 
in bringing ruin upon their country, would not in 
future meet with the punishment it deserved, " quod 
quidem, ut res ccepit ire, haud scio, an aliquando fu- 
turum sit ;" may be answered by Horace's 

" Raro antecedentem scelestum 
Deseruit pede poena claudo." 

Various are the ways which Providence reserves 



43 

to itself, of punishing these and other crimes, without 
always employing the agency of man, in the usual 
means of doing it. The very success of crime may 
bring with it its own punishment. The possession 
of absolute power could not secure Caesar from the 
swords of his assassins : but that a violent death is not 
always a punishment, was evinced in that of Cicero : 
these events however were only preparatory to more 
important and extensive judgments of Providence ; 
the religion as well as the republic of Rome was to 
be overturned ; and a " new order" of things was to 
" arise," which, after the various trials it has under- 
gone, will, we may hope in these our later times, be 
brought nearer to perfection, by the character of 
tolerance which Christianity is at length enabled to 
assume. We may hope then perhaps, that, ere long, 
the " sword" which our Saviour " came to bring," 
will be buried for ever in its sheath. 

" Sine sociis nemo quidquam tale (nefas) conatur." 
(Cap. 12.) 

The social principle acts more or less on all dis- 
positions ; but what at first puts that principle in 
action, and directs its movements (except the sense of 
dependence) we cannot say. Rousseau's " l'homme 
est bon, mais les hommes sont medians," is perhaps 
not truer than its opposite, l'homme est mediant, 
mais les hommes sont bons. If men corrupt one 
another, they correct one another too. The exem- 
plification of the proverb " noscitur a sociis," depends 
much on the choice which an individual makes of his 



44 

companions : farther back than this we cannot go, 
unless we take him into the nursery, and there too he 
will give some manifestation of what may be called 
his natural disposition, which will be expanded or 
corrected in the great nursery of life : for what is life, 
but a preparatory state? We are variously gifted, 
and our responsibility must probably depend on the 
use we make of the gifts we have received, and have 
the power of using. " To whom much is given, of 
him much will be required." Who shall say how 
much is comprehended in this ? Who shall estimate, 
or trace back to its source, the share which each indi- 
vidual, be his or her condition what it may, has in 
forming or influencing the characters of his fellow- 
creatures ' ? " Offences must come," but from whence 
do they first come ? 

Cap. 13. " Hasc igitur prima lex amicitiae sancia- 
tur, ut ab amicis honesta petamus, amicorum causa 
honesta faciamus; ne exspectemus quidem, dum ro- 
gemur ; studium semper adsit, cunctatio absit ; con- 
silium vero dare gaudeamus libere ; plurimum in 
amicitia amicorum bene suadentium valeat auctori- 
tas ; eaque et adhibeatur ad monendum non modo 
aperte, sed etiam acriter, si res postulabit ; et adhi- 
bitge pareatur." 

To those who are equal to these tasks, and know 
how and when to perform them, better rules for 



1 Men will never know, or do justice to, each other, till they feel all 
the force of the duty. 



45 

friendship cannot be given. — The opinions, which 
Laelius cites, of some " wise men" in Greece (and 
which he calls " mirabilia quaedam") " partim fugien- 
das esse nimias amicitias, ne necesse sit unum solli- 
citum esse pro pluribus ;" and " commodissimum esse, 
quam laxissimas 1 habenas habere amicitias, quas vel 
adducas, cum velis, vel remittas :" also " (multo etiam 
inhumanius) praesidii adjumentique causa, non bene- 
volentiae neque caritatis, amicitias esse expetendas," 
are all so false and selfish, that they might well excite 
him to exclaim (ironically of course) " O praeclaram 
sapientiam ! solem enim e mundo tollere videntur, 
qui amicitiam e vita tollunt : qua a Diis immortalibus 
nihil melius habemus, nihil jucundius." — " Neque 
enim est consentaneum, ullam honestam rem ac- 
tionemve, ne sollicitus sis, aut non suscipere, aut 
susceptam deponere ; quod si curam fugimus, virtus 
fugienda est :" that is, when virtue gives us the feelings 
which make us despise and hate the things that are 
opposed to them : as " goodness hates malice, tem- 
perance lust, fortitude cowardice." *' Ergo hoc pro- 
prium est animi bene constituti, et laetari bonis rebus, 
et dolere contrariis :" the bonaa et contrarias res being 
such as are favourable or unfavourable to what virtue 
makes us love or hate. 

He goes on to shew, how much this selfishness and 
want of sympathy would debase our nature ; and how 
little it could avail, to exempt us from the troubles of 
life ; justly observing, that, as virtue " quidem est, 

1 " Laxissimas," indeed ! 



46 

cum multis in rebus, turn in amicitia, tenera atque 
tractabilis;" therefore " angor iste, qui pro amico saepe 
capiendus est, non tantum valet, ut tollat e vita ami- 
citiam; non plus, quam ut virtutes, quia nonnullas 
curas et molestias afferunt, repudientur." — (Cap. 13.) 

" Non utilitatem amicitia, sed utilitas amicitiam 
consecuta est." — (Cap. 14.) 

The first moving principle is, goodness, and the 
love of virtue ; " utility" is the reward which follows 
our being influenced by them. 

The Greek Philosophers whom Laelius cites, seem 
to have aimed at making life cease to be a mixed state 
of pain and pleasure, and at having all the happiness 
of their " wise man" concentrated within himself, 
and subject to his own power: a system which might 
suit the extremes either of Stoicism or Epicurism, 
but not the good sense which would steer between 
them. Even the Epicurean Horace says " Est modus 
in rebus," &c. — The " lex amicitiae," which Laelius 
had laid down before, is surely sufficient, to shew the 
importance of friendship for the purposes of life, and 
for the social enjoyment of it. 

How true it is, " bonis inter bonos quasi necessa- 
riam benevolentiam esse ; qui est amicitise fons a na- 
tura constitutus :" and further, " eadem bonitas etiam 
ad multitudinem pertinet 1 — virtus enim populos uni- 

1 " Equal" therefore is common goodness, as well as 

" Common sense, and common ease." 

The great dependence of the man who possesses it, will be upon his 
God, and himself. Let the great consider this, and let them do justice 
to the lower ranks. 



47 

versos tueri, eisque optime consulere soleat ; quod non 
faceret profecto, si a caritate vulgi abhorreret." He 
ends this chapter (14) with " non utilitatem amicitia, 
sed utilitas amicitiam consecuta est." As had been 
the case between himself and Scipio : and indeed 
without a previous " amicitia," the " utilitas" would 
hardly have been conferred. 

It may however be said, that we are all more or 
less dependent on each other, and the sense of that 
dependence may be an excitement to friendship ; but 
it is not the only one ; if it were, the utilitas would 
hardly be mutual ; nor would self-love (perhaps the 
primum mobile) bear such beautiful ramifications, nor 
produce such excellent fruits as we see it does. 

How different this, from the " tyrannorum vita" 
however " deliciis diffluens" it may be, of the next 
(15.) Chapter ! " in qua, nimirum nulla fides, nulla ca- 
ritas, nulla stabilis benevolentise potest esse fiducia : 
omnia semper suspecta atque sollicita ; nullus locus 
amicitiae. Quis enim aut eum diligat quern metuit, 
aut eum a quo se metui putat ?" 

Such is the penalty inflicted upon the want of jus- 
tice and brotherly love ; in the corroding passions of fear 
and hatred. " Tarquin" found in his exile, " quos fidos 
amicos habuisset, quos infidos, cum jam neutris gra- 
tiam referre posset. Quamquam miror," says Laglius, 
" ilia superbia et importunitate, si quemquam habere 
potuit. Atque ut hujus, quern dixi, mores veros amicos 
parare non potuere ; sic multorum opes praepotentium 
excludunt amicitias fideles ; non enim solum ipsa for- 



48 

tuna caeca est ; sed eos etiam plerumque efficit caecos, 
quos complexa est." In making them proud, unrea" 
sonable, and capricious, — " neque quidquam insipi- 
ente fortunato intolerabilius fieri potest." No, indeed ; 
for the fool of fortune must be the worst and the most 
troublesome of all fools. " Riches make themselves 
wings, and fly away;" how foolish then to depend 
upon them, and what they can procure, without en- 
suring the enjoyment of them to their possessors, who 
have it in their power "amicos parare, optimam et 
pulcherrimam vitae, ut ita dicam, supellectilem" — for 
" amicitiarum sua cuique permanet stabilis, et certa 
possessio." — Yes, when the friendship is sincere, and 
its object well chosen ; not when " coluntur, ut 
tyranni, aut opibus praepotentes, simulatione dun- 
taxat ad tempus. Quod si forte (ut fit plerumque) 
ceciderint, turn intelligitur, quam fuerint inopes ami- 
corum." 

" Etiam si ilia maneant, qua? sunt quasi dona for- 
tunae, tamen vita inculta, et deserta ab amicis, non 
possit esse jucunda." — (Cap. 15.) 

So Young, 

" Poor is the friendless master of a world ; 
A world in purchase of a friend is gain." 

(Night 2d.) 

" Sed haec hactenus," as indeed it was time for 
Laelius to say, much as his subject deserved to be 
dwelt upon. 

Of the three " in amicitia fines, et quasi termini 



49 

diligendi," objected to by Laslius, (in Cap. 16.) the 
first is, ut eodem modo erga amicum affecti simus, 
quo erga nosmetipsos ; as falling short of the height, 
to which friendship ought to be carried ; but if it is 
not sufficient for this, it is for the love of our neigh- 
bours, enjoined by the Gospel; higher feelings are 
reserved for higher duties : sacrifices may be made to 
friendship, but the greatest sacrifice is due to religion ; 
this forbids us " acerbius in aliquem invehi, insec- 
tarique vehementius ;" however " honestum in amico- 
rum rebus" the world may think it, 

" One should our interest, and our passions be ; 
My friend should hate the man that injures me." 

According to this, the " love of our enemies," en- 
joined by the Gospel, is to be confined (if the precept 
is observed) to the injured person ; but his friend is 
to be allowed, nay is enjoined, to have a feeling of 
hatred which is not permitted to the other (unless in- 
deed he hates by proxy) ; but in that case how are 
the passions to be one and the same l ? 

Such is the extension, or rather transference (for it 
is no more) recommended by an old song. 

As to the preference of our friends to ourselves, it 
does not appear that this " Charity which begins" 
abroad, is in perfect accord with the classical inscrip- 
tion, " sibi et amicis ;" which modern sentiment has 

1 " Alter idem" does not imply identity. 
E 



50 

altered to " amicis et sibi," but which I think would 
be better expressed by " sibi, ut amicis impertiatur :" 
for certainly the first bestowal must come from the 
owner himself. But such exaggerations more resem- 
ble those of the Spaniards, unmeaning as they are. 

The friendships of the heathens seem to have re- 
quired enemies, both to prove their truth and warmth 
against, (an odd jumble this of love and hatred) and 
to carry them to their greatest height (like the effer- 
vescence of acids and alkalies, rising into froth) : 
the charity of the Gospel, like the calm of a homoge- 
neous mixture, poured forth by a divine hand, finds its 
greatest elevation and durability in the suppression of 
all enmity and effervescence whatever. 

" Altera sententia est, quae definit amicitiam pari- 
bus officiis ac voluntatibus." — If this only means a 
parity of love, which will show itself in demonstra- 
tions of one kind or another, it seems no more than 
what friendship, to be mutual, requires ; and not to 
deserve the censure of " nimis exigue et exiliter ad 
calculos vocare amicitiam, ut par sit ratio acceptorum 
et datorum ;" or " observare restricts, ne plus reddat, 
quam acceperit." 

Mutual confidence will neither make these calcu- 
lations, nor wait for these trials. But Cicero seems 
to have been so afraid of sentiment being made subor- 
dinate to reason (or rather to interest) that he would 
not allow it to be regulated by it. 

The truth is, that there is not room enough in 
human concerns, for sentiment to expand and elevate 



51 

itself in, whatever attempts or profession it may make ; 
the feeling and the wish indeed remain, like a castle 
in the air, to be realized thereafter. There we shall 
find that 

" To love, and know, in man 
Is boundless appetite and boundless power ; 
And these demonstrate boundless objects too, 
Objects, powers, appetites, heaven suits in all : 

(&c.) 

" Tertius vero ille finis deterrimus, ut quanti quisque 
se ipse faciat, tanti fiat ab amicis." 

Deterrimus certainly ; for this makes friendship to 
be founded on self-estimation, or perhaps self-conceit, 
which may know no bounds 1 ; excluding the " animus 
abjectior, aut spes amplificandae fortunae fractior," 
both which may be very consistent with a goodness of 
disposition that deserves the assistance of a more san- 
guine and active friend, " eniti, et efhcere, ut amici 
jacentem animum excite t, inducatque spem, cogita- 
tionemque meliorem." Such " efficiency" can only 
be substantially hoped from a heavenly friend ; but 
the degree to which it may be afforded on earth, is 
one instance of the " utilitas, quae amici tiam conse- 
cuta est." 

As for the " alius finis verae amici tiae, — ita amare 
oportere, ut si aliquando esset osorus," it requires 
nothing more than what Scipio said of it, when he 
" negabat ullam vocem inimiciorem amicitiae potuisse 

1 Such " self-love" knows no other. 



52 

reperiri :" for such a mixture of love and hatred can 
only suit the caprices of a selfish and ambitious mind, 
" qui omnia ad suam potentiam revocare vult." 

" Quonam modo quisquam amicus esse poterit, cui 
se putabit inimicum esse posse?" — (Cap. 16.) 

By no " means," certainly : for this very " possi- 
bility" will be realized, in a constant preparation for, 
if not anticipation of, the enmity it calculates upon, 
and which it perhaps wishes may be excused and pro- 
voked by the fault of the friend who may become the 
object of hatred and enmity. 

Such calculations are best precluded, either by 
caution in the choice of friends, or toleration of their 
faults, when chosen. 

How much better is Scipio's maxim, " ut earn 
diligentiam adhiberemus in amicitiis comparandis, ut 
nequando amare inciperemus eum, quern aliquando 
odisse possemus. Quinetiam si minus felices dili- 
gendo fuissemus, ferendum id potius, quam inimici- 
tiarum tempus cogitandum ;" any feeling being better 
than that of hatred, or the suspicion that prepares us 
for it. 

Cap. 17. — " His igitur flnibus utendum arbitror, 
ut, cum emendati mores amicorum sint, turn sit inter 
eos omnium rerum, consiliorum, voluntatum, sine 
ulla exceptione, communitas ; ut etiam si qua for- 
tuna accident, ut minus justse amicorum voluntates 
adjuvandae sint, in quibus eorum aut caput agatur, 
aut fama, declinandum sit de via, modo ne summa 
turpitudo sequatur." 



53 

The " utilitas amicitiae" then extends " ad emen- 
dandos amicorum mores :" and well it may ; for, as 
the foundation of friendship is to be in a good dispo- 
sition (" inter bonos") that must be the best prepara- 
tion for any mutual improvement, that mutual com- 
munication may afterwards make ; an improvement 
which confirms and completes the confidence between 
them. 

In saying " ut etiam si qua fortuna acciderit," &c. 
(as above) Lselius seems to carry this " communitas" 
still further ; and in the " declinandum de via" (via 
recti) to tread upon tender and slippery ground. 
Cicero indeed, the prompter of Lselius, had trod upon 
it, in the affair of his friend Milo ; in which he pro- 
bably meant to shew, " quatenus amicitias dari venia 
possit ;" and also that " nee vero negligenda est fama : 
nee mediocre telum ad res gerendas existimare oportet 
benevolentiam civium" (non " prava jubentium ?") 
quam blanditiis et assentando colligere turpe est ; 
(certainly, si " pravajubent,") "Virtus quam sequitur 
caritas, (yes, and the only " caritas" that is worth 
having) minime repudianda est." 

With however the saving clause in the connexion 
of " virtue and friendship," there may be some laxity 
of morals in this ; at least it does not come up to the 
" Amicus Plato, sed magis arnica Veritas." 

Perhaps there may be times and cases in which the 
rigidity of truth may be departed from ; but in this 
" declinatio de via' we should take care not to hasten 
the " proclivior ad perniciem lapsus ;" nor yet should 



54 

we make too great a sacrifice, even to a virtuous 
friendship. 

Cicero had to prop a falling republic ; and the 
means he chose might be the proper ones. Cato was 
left to himself, and when "impious men bore sway," 
to choose " a private station," (Utica indeed was not 
one) and, as he did, a final refuge in death. This 
indeed, desperate as the act was, was " liberare 
animam suam" — a vinculo corporis — but how much 
further ? What would become of the ' ' atrox animus ?" 
If indeed we are to adopt the Courtier Horace's 
phrase. — The heathen philosophers and heroes (the 
Stoics at least) had not learnt submission to any 
masters but those of their own school ; and their 
courage was not of the passive kind, nor certainly was 
it exempt from pride. Such an exemption was to be 
learnt at a better school than that of the Epicurean 
Horace, who might be better able to preach than to 
practise the " animum regere." 

In abandoning a post where we can no longer be of 
any service (at least in our own opinion) the greatest 
sacrifice we make, may be that of our duty. For we 
do it " injussu imperatoris, id est, Dei." 

Scipio's complaint, " quod omnibus aliis rebus 
homines diligentiores essent, in amicis vero eligendis 
negligentes," Lselius answers properly enough by 
"judicare difficile est, nisi expertum : ita praecurrit 
amicitia judicium, tollitque experiendi potestatem." 

Experience cannot begin friendships, but it may 
confirm them, by proving who are " firmi et stabiles, 



oo 



et constantes ;" till when perhaps " prudentis est 
sustinere, ut currum, sic impetum benevolentise.'' 
This " impetus" indeed may require an experience of 
the qualities above mentioned in our friends, to en- 
courage it towards them ; especially if we are endowed 
with these qualities ourselves ; in this case there will 
be a sense of congeniality, which will be confirmed 
by habit (" consuetudine adjunct a") as well as by a 
mutual want of, and consequent dependence on, each 
other : the latter indeed is best placed on ourselves, 
and ought, in some measure at least, to be so, even 
when we most want the assistance of others, which 
will be bestowed upon us in vain, unless we contribute 
something of our own, in the efforts we make, or the 
prudence we use. So far " every man is for himself;" 
and not for himself only, but for others also, in the 
example which he gives them. Of such a man it 
may well be expected, " ut in amicitiis expetendis 
colendisque maxime excellat :" as was mutually the 
case between Scipio and Lselius. 

To Laelius's observation, that in the trials of friend- 
ship men are apt to be seduced from it, " some by 
the prospect of small profit (or fear of loss) others of 
greater, and still more by honours, power," &c. it may 
be said, that where the friendship is real, the acqui- 
sition of these objects will rather tend to increase the 
opportunities for the demonstrations of it, which they 
may be expected to be more favourable than adverse 
to ; when they are the latter, it is indeed a trial which 
few perhaps can stand ; so foolish are we often, in 



56 

preferring the applause of many, precarious and in- 
sincere as it may be, to the more real approbation of 
a few, or of one only ; and that one perhaps the voice 
of our own conscience. If the pursuit of honours, 
power, &c. is ever in accordance with the last-men- 
tioned, it must be in such instances as that of " Went- 
worth," in the interesting novel of " De Vere ;" if it 
may be allowed here to compare fictitious with real 
characters ; both however drawn from observation of 
human life, and both perhaps mixed, more or less, 
with hypothesis ; founded, it may be, on a too favour- 
able, but not altogether imaginary view of human 
nature, blind as that is apt to be to its real interest, 
which must consist in promoting the good of our 
fellow-creatures. This indeed is generally made the 
pretext in following those intricate paths which lead 
to the attainment of riches, honours, and power, among 
the sons of men ; who assist or thwart each other in 
the pursuit of them. We are now, I think, arrived 
at a period (A. D. 1829,) when the attainment of them 
is likely to be directed to the best purposes, in pro- 
moting the interest of our country, and the general 
good of mankind. God grant that these prospects 
may be realized ! 

If a man refuses all accommodation to the world, he 
must live only to himself, and perhaps to his God ; 
if he accommodates, he must take care, as far as he 
can, to " keep himself unspotted by it ;" mixing as 
much as he can of the " wisdom of the serpent with 
the innocence of the dove." 



57 

" Ubi istum invenias, qui honor em amici anteponat 
suo ?" Probably no where ; nor would the " ante- 
ponere" be reasonable, if the candidate thinks, and 
has reason to think himself as well, or better qualified 
" in honoribus reque publica versari." In such a case, 
the sacrifice "verae amicitiae" would be a sacrifice, 
not only of his own, but of the public interest. In 
regarding friendship, we are not to have that alto- 
gether exclusively in view ; nor need we, to avoid our 
being said, " in bonis rebus contempsisse, aut in malis 
deseruisse amicos." — " Qui igitur utraque in re gravem, 
constantem, stabilem se in amicitia praestiterit, hunc 
ex maxime raro hominum genere judicare debemus, 
et pcene divino." — (Cap. 18.) 

As much as you please, my good Laelius ; but at 
any rate you can make your friend no more than your 
second self, unless you make him penitus " divinum," 
whatever sacrifices you may make to him ; and if the 
duties of friendship are to be reciprocal, how are these 
sacrifices to be made ? Must we not call in a third 
interest, both to appeal and to sacrifice to ? If not, 
will there not be some danger of a dispute, in deter- 
mining which of the two friends shall prefer the 
" honour" of the other to his own ? This certainly 
would be a new " bone of contention," neither very 
amicable, nor a "jucundabenevolentiae remuneratio." 

But there is a third interest superior to that of any 
earthly objects; and when Laelius calls friends the 
" optima et pulcherrima vitae supellex," (Cap. 15.) 
he names a " supellex" with which, like most other 



58 

goods, he has shewn that we cannot completely furnish 
ourselves ; and why ? because there is a higher, with 
which we can. Friendship, like other blessings, must 
be perfected in heaven : there only is the " entender- 
ment," which must be founded in " virtue," and will 
last "forever;" its trials on earth shew the allays, 
the dross, from which it must be purged 1 . Of the 
other objects of our earthly desires, Laelius had said 
(Cap. 15.) " ejus est istorum quodque, qui vincit vi- 
ribus." Yes truly ; the possession of them is obtained 
and kept by strength ; that of friendship is often lost 
by weakness ; the weakness of human nature. 

" Firmamentum autem stabilitatis, constantiaeque 
ejus, quam in amicitia quaerimus, fides est. Nihil 
enim stabile est, quod inndum est. Simplicem prae- 
terea, et communem, et consentientem, qui rebus 
iisdem moveatur, eligi par est : quae omnia pertinent 
ad fidelitatem." 

Yes ; but the " multiplex" (not " tortuosum") in- 
genium, which Laelius opposes to these, may be re- 
quired in the great businesses of the world ; and may 
it not be consistent with the qualities which friend- 
ship requires? May they not all be comprised in 
Pope's line, 

" There needs but thinking right, and meaning well ?" 

" Accedat hue suavitas quae dam oportet sermonum 
atque morum, haudquaquam mediocre condimentum 

1 As well as from all interests, but those of religion and virtue. 



59 

amicitias. Tristitia autem, et in omni re severitas, 
habet ilia quidem gravitatem ; sed amicitia remissior 
esse debet, et liberior, et dulcior, et ad omnem comi- 
tatem, facilitatemque proclivior." 

These are the balms with which we may soften and 
sweeten the hardnesses and bitternesses of life, with- 
out derogating from the duties of it : — " non amici- 
tiarum esse debent, sicut aliarum rerum, satietates." 
(Cap. 19.) — No ; for real goodness, on which friend- 
ship must be founded, never tires, though it may not 
always amuse ; but " maxima est vis vetustatis, et 
consuetudinis," (et necessitatis, might be added) and 
though it may be true, that "multos modios salis 
simul edendos esse, ut amicitiae munus expletum sit :" 
yet this " salt" is but the seasoning of a better sub- 
stance. 

" Old friends, old horses, and old wines." 



Yes, Lselius ; we know the value, and the necessity 
of them too, as we advance in life. 

Scipio (says Laelius, Cap. 19.) " suos omnes per 
se esse ampliores volebat." — The superior qualities 
which he possessed, were directed to the benefit of 
his friends, " quod faciendum, imitandumque est 
omnibus," &c. 

" Fructus ingenii et virtu tis, omnisque praestantiaa, 
turn maximus capitur, cum in proximum quemque 
confertur."— (Cap. 19.) 

No doubt the first objects of our regard should be 

6 



60 

ou nearest relatives, at least if they are deserving 
of it. 

" Officia amicorum meminisse debent ii in quos 
collata sunt ; non commemorare ii, qui contulerunt.' 
—(Cap. 20.) 

Gratitude in friendship ought to be voluntary, not 
exacted, nor particularly expected ; it should be exhi- 
bited in the same, or perhaps increased attachment, 
that before subsisted. 

The ingratitude of mankind has often been com- 
plained of, and perhaps not without reason ; if so, it 
may be considered as one of the trials of life ; and as 
one of the evils, which is sure to have its counterpoise 
of good. However, it may have its excuse ; or the 
fault may be on both sides 1 . 

— " ii, qui superiores sunt, submittere se debent in 
amicitia." — Yes ; for can superiority be more properly 
shewn, than in the services which it enables men to 
render? If contrariwise shewn, or in mere selfish 
gratifications, the superiority of intellect is lost in the 
degradation of moral turpitude. 

— " sunt quidam, qui molestas amicitias faciunt, 
cum ipsi se contemni putant ; quod non fere contin- 
git, nisi iis, qui etiam contemnendos se arbitrantur ; 
qui hac opinione, non modo verbis, sed etiam opere, 
levandi sunt." 

There are cases, in which we are to be made to 
think well of ourselves, to enable us to think fairly 

1 From want of right feeling. 



61 

of others. Perhaps it may be an instance of the 
" Charity," which is to " begin at home ;" or the 
" Justice," which should be " even-handed." 

There will always be a model, before which we 
should humble ourselves ; and the " Publican" who 
acknowledged himself to be "a sinner," made no 
comparisons. 

— " non tu possis, quantumvis excellas, omnes tuos 
ad honores amplissimos perducere." 

We must assist our fiiends, not in proportion to our 
powers or their wishes, but to their merits ; " viden- 
dum est, quid ille possit sustinere" — as Scipio found 
it necessary to do, in the cases of " Rutilius," and his 
brother " Lucius." 

— " Omnino amicitia9, corroboratis jam confirmatis- 
que et ingeniis et setatibus, judicandse sunt." 

The wants and inclinations of our advanced age, 
will of course supersede those of our childhood ; we 
should however preserve some regard for those who 
supplied and gratified the latter, " negligendi quidem 
non sunt, sed alio quodam modo colendi : aliter ami- 
citiae stabiles permanere non possunt." — The seeds of 
friendship then must be sown in early life, and upon 
congenial soils ! for at any rate something more than 
mere habit must be required. The " dispares mores," 
and the " maxima morum studiorumque distantia," 
which must especially be the case "inter bonos et 
improbos," cannot but be an effectual bar to friend- 
ship, and sufficient " dissociare amicitias," at any 
stage of life. 



62 

— " in omni re considerandum est, et quid postules 
ab amico, et quid patiare a te impetrari." — The first 
address, and last appeal a man should make, is to his 
own judgment and conscience. 

" Saepe incidunt magna? res, ut discedendum sit ab 
amicis ; quas qui impedire vult, quod desiderium 
non facile ferat, is et infirmus est, mollisque natura, 
et, ob earn ipsam causam, in amicitia parum Justus." 
(Cap. 20.) 

To shew too great indulgence in friendship is neither 
doing justice to our friends nor ourselves; it is to con- 
sult our own ease (ease dearly bought) at their expense. 

Cap. 2\. — " Est etiam quasi quaedam calamitas in 
amicitiis dimittendis nonnunquam necessaria." — 
Friendships ought certainly to be dissolved, or at 
least the bond relaxed (" dissuendae magis, quam 
discindendae") when they are not supported by mu- 
tual esteem. 

" Si morum aut studiorum commutatio quaedam 
(ut fieri solet) facta erit, aut in reipublicae partibas 
dissensio intercesserit — cavendum erit, ne non solum 
amicitia? deposits?, sed inimicitias etiam susceptae, 
videantur." 

If any circumstances oblige us to dissolve our friend- 
ships, we should take care that they are not succeeded 
by enmity : it may be just to give up our friends, but 
it cannot be just to treat them as enemies. 

" Digni autem sunt amicitia, quibus in ipsis inest 
causa, cur diligantur." 

Certainly ; and to be assured of this, our " una 



63 

cautio," and " una provisio" is, " ut ne nimis cito 
diligere incipiamus, neve non dignos :" — which will be 
more difficult, if (Cap. 17.) "praecurrit amicitia judi- 
cium, tollitque experiendi potestatem." — The only 
security against which perhaps is " sustinere, ut 
currum, sic impetum benevolentiae ;" and to consider, 
" quid postulare ab amico," &c. — (Cap. 20.) 

So shall we do justice, both to our friends, and our- 
selves. 

" Rarum genus, (et quidem omnia praeclara rara) 
nee quidquam difflcilius, quam reperire, quod sit omni 
ex parte in suo genere perfectum." 

It is the nature of man to look out for perfection, 
and it is his lot not to find it upon earth either in 
himself or others. What he looks for here, he will 
see hereafter. Else why look for it ? 

" Sed plerique neque in rebus humanis quidquam 
bonum norunt, nisi quod fructuosum sit." — " Ita pul- 
cherrima ilia, et maxime naturali carent amicitia, per 
se, et propter se expetenda." 

And why expetenda ? From the satisfaction that 
we hope to derive from it; an instinctive hope, of 
which we may be ourselves unconscious, and which, 
like other feelings, may be undefmable. But surely 
this is the " fructum capiendi spes ;" and immature 
as it is, we find in it the congeniality that makes both 
us and our friend look up to, and aim at that perfec- 
tion, from the undisturbed and unalloyed contempla- 
tion of which, perfect satisfaction can only be derived. 



64 

This is the " peace," the hope of which this life can 
only "give." 

" Ipse se quisque diligit, non ut aliquam a se ipse 
mercedem exigat caritatis suae, sed quod per se sibi 
quisque carus est ; quod nisi idem in amicitiam trans- 
feratur, verus amicus nunquam reperietur ; est enim 
is tamquam alter idem." 

Obscure and involved as this may be, we see by it 
that Cicero found himself obliged to refer all friend- 
ship to the principle of self-love, whatever elevation 
and disinterestedness he might wish to ascribe to 
human nature, the dependence of which on himself, 
our Maker has made as apparent in man, as " in 
bestiis, volucribus, nantibus 1 ," &c. &c. 

"Sed plerique perverse (ne dicam impudenter) 
amicum habere talem volunt, quales ipsi esse non pos- 
sunt: quaeque ipsi non tribuunt amicis, haec ab iis 
desiderant." 

And why do they desire this ? unless it is that they 
may place their whole confidence in, their whole re- 
liance on them. Man's desires exceed his powers ; 
but his desires are natural ; and who has given them 
to him, but the Author of Nature ? And why has 
he given them to man, but that they should be placed 
on himself, and that from him their fulfilment should 
be expected? 



1 Esteem, like " charity," must " begin at home." — The " alter 
idem" must not be a " fellow -rogue " 



65 

" Par autem est, primum ipsum esse virum bonum, 
turn alterum similem sui quaerere." 

True friendship certainly must be " inter bonos ;" 
but perfect " good" can only, as our Saviour said, be 
found in " God." 

Cicero has endeavoured in this work, as in his 
" Offices," &c. to give an elevation to human nature 
that it is not capable of: we find him however obliged, 
perhaps involuntarily, to acknowledge its inferiority to, 
and dependence upon a higher power ; not f nature," 
but the Author of it. — His encouragements of human 
endeavours indeed may be countenanced by the scrip- 
tural injunction, " Be ye perfect," &c. — but they are 
unaccompanied with those checks to human pride, 
that are to be found only in the Gospel. In the 
" Somnium Scipionis," Cicero makes Africanus say, 
" Deum te igitur scito esse." St. Paul much more 
properly says, " Know ye not that ye are the temple of 
God, and that the spirit of God dwelleth in you ?" &c. 
— 1 Cor. chap. 3. v. 26. 

The utmost exertions of our reason give us assu- 
rances which, when those exertions are relaxed (and 
they cannot always be kept up) we cease to feel : but 
the desires which they have excited, remain : and 
have not the utmost exertions of our reason sanc- 
tioned them ? The mind of man is too often the slave, 
the humble follower of his senses : the " divinae par- 
ticula auras" however sometimes disengages itself; 
and often too, " reason re-assumes her empire." 

F 



66 

That reason tells us, that man is, in spirit, the " image 
of his Maker." 

" Neque solum se colent (amici) inter se, ac dili- 
gent, sed etiam verebuntur ; nam maximum orna- 
ment um amici tiss tollit, qui ex ea tollit verecun- 
diam." 

A modest diffidence, not so much of others, as of 
ourselves, becomes a man, as much as " stillness and 
humility" do : we are made to observe, and should be 
in awe of each other, as well as of ourselves : but not 
in fear, which must arise from a consciousness of some- 
thing more than weakness, and must subsist only be- 
tween those who cannot trust each other, and are not 
themselves " armed strong in honesty." Whoever is 
so armed, will look on others with the same candour 
with which he expects to be looked upon by them : 
or if he does not meet with that, will find a sure re- 
source in his " nil conscire sibi." 

" Virtutum amicitia adjutrix a natura data est, non 
vitiorum comes." We want no help to vice, except 
to countenance us in the practice of what we are 
ourselves ashamed of. All the rest of this chapter is 
equally admirable, and affords a satisfactory answer 
to Rousseau's " L'homme est bon, mais les hommes 
sont mechants." If they are "mechants," they are 
sure to suffer by it. 

" Ea (virtute) neglecta, qui se amicos habere arbi- 
trantur, turn se denique errasse sentiunt, cum eos 
gravis aliquis casus experiri cogit." (Cap. 22.) 



67 

This, it is to be feared is too true ; for there are 
few who " learn to be wise from others' harm." 

" Prasposteris utimur consiliis, et acta agimus," &c. 

How much truth is expressed in this play upon 
words ! An after-thought may be a substitute for a 
fore-thought, when it is too late to act upon it, and 
either to " do," or undo, what is already " done." 

Cap. 23. — " Una est amicitia in rebus humanis, de 
cujus utilitate omnes uno ore consentiunt ; — de ami- 
citia omnes ad unum idem sentiunt; — serpit enim, 
nescio quomodo, per omnium vitas amicitia *," &c. 

All other enjoyments in life must give way to those 
which the social feelings excite : for if " life is feeling," 
what can awaken it more than friendship, in the 
bosom of which, even misanthropy, hateful as it is, 
will seek to disburthen itself 2 ; and the highest feelings 
will become more vivid, by participation with it. But 
if Gray truly says, 

" To each his sufferings ; all are men, 
Condemn'd alike to groan ; 
The tender for another's pain, 
Th' unfeeling for his own ;" 

this feeling must produce pain as well as pleasure; 
and indeed must add to the pain which our own 
" sufferings" excite, subject as we are to the privation, 
or at least interruption, of our enjoyments. Sym- 
pathy surely implies some degree of suffering ; on 

1 Et non modo " serpit," sed eas internectit, jungitque. 

2 Or at least to lessen its load by communication. 

f2 



68 

which account I never could approve of Milton's 
expedient to save the happiness of angels from being 
injured by the regret which they felt (I quote from 
memory) at man's transgressions, which, he says, 
* f mixed with pity, violated not their bliss." For what 
is pity, but sympathy ? 

Young, with more reason, attributes a different 
feeling to them, when he says, 

" A Christian is the highest style of man ; 
And is there, who the blessed cross wipes off, 
As a foul blot, from his dishonour' d brow ? 
If angels tremble, 'tis at such a sight ; 
The wretch they quit, desponding of their charge ; 
More struck with grief or wonder, who can tell ?" 

These feelings may be counteracted, but not en- 
tirely expelled. I think the angelic feelings must, 
not unlike those of men, be of a mixed kind ; and 
they, like us, may want some consolation, to 



-" balance all amiss, 



And turn the scale in favour of the just." 

And where shall we find it, but in looking up to 
Heaven ? To him, who is the God of Mercy, as well 
as of Justice ? Without these feelings, life, nay ex- 
istence itself, cannot be enjoyed ; and as they are 
necessary to alleviate our pains, so are they to heighten 
our pleasures — " Quis tarn esset ferreus, cui non 
auferret fructum voluptatum omnium solitudo ?" 

But the feelings of devotion, which are by no means 
" taken away" by solitude, are heightened by the 



69 

gratitude which our very existence will still leave to 
us, and are strengthened by a reliance attended by 
no fears which resignation will not remove, and by a 
confidence far more perfect than any earthly friend- 
ship can give. In religion there is all that can excite 
every good or pleasureable feeling of the heart, and 
overcome every painful or bad one. It may then be 
much more truly said of this, that " haec est societas, 
in qua omnia insunt, quae putant (aut putare possunt) 
homines expetenda." 



-" I cannot go 



Where universal love smiles not around, 
Sustaining all yon orbs, and all their suns," &c. 

Thomson's Seasons. 

Laalius indeed might allude to the feelings, when he 
said (Cap. 22.) " si id volumus adipisci, virtuti opera 
danda est :" but, he was not aware of any divine com- 
munications, that could give virtue an immediate 
connection with religion. A feeling of submission, 
and a looking up "ad summum bonum," or as Pope 
makes Plato express it, 

" To the first good, first perfect, and first fair," 

was all that the heathens could arrive at. 

" Sed, cum tot signis eadem natura declaret, quid 
velit, anquirat, ac desideret ; obsurdescimus tamen, 
nescio quomodo ; nee ea, qu.ee ab ea monemur, audi- 
mus." — And no wonder, as nature gives us so many 
passions to make us deaf to the " still, small voice of 
reason ;" and when the immediate impulse of the one 



TO 

is so much stronger than that of the other. The 
struggle then must be ended by a submission to, or 
subjugation of, the passions, which latter can only be 
effected with the aid of that appeal which religion 
makes to the feelings : {{ senza muovere, non ce vit- 
toria V Our passions impel us to action : reason, ad- 
versity, and religion, make us think and feel ; with 
the exception of some hardened hearts. Will not 
this solve Lselius's " nescio quomodo ?" 

" Obsequium amicos, Veritas odium parit." 

This may be so ; but the " obsequium, peccatis indul- 
gens," will no more consolidate friendships, than the 
" Veritas, sine monitionis acerbitate," will dissolve 
them ; unless indeed where " aures veritati clausae 
sunt, ut ab amico verum audire nequeant." In this 
case, there can neither be " utilitas," nor " fides in 
amicitia," — " nam et monendi amici ssepe sunt, et 
objurgandi : et haec accipienda amice, cum benevole 
hunt," — where there is this freedom used, the " mo- 
nitio et objurgatio," when required, maybe mutual. 

Perhaps however the " objurgatio" supposes a de- 
gree of necessity for it, that makes its effect at least 
doubtful ; and when Lselius says " illud absurdum 
est, quod ii, qui monentur, quam debent capere, non 
capiunt ; earn capiunt, qua, debent vacare : peccasse 
enim se non anguntur ; objurgari moleste ferunt ; 
quod contra oportebat, delicto dolere, correctione 

1 " Notwithstanding, there is no victory :" that is, to convince or per- 
suade, the feelings must be moved. 



71 

gaudere," he seems to put the monitio et objurgatio 
upon the same level ; if they are so as modes of 
" correction," they may differ much, in the manner 
and degree in which that correction is administered ; 
and their effects may differ accordingly. The right 
of administering them may also be a matter of 
question 1 . 

Laelius's reprobation of the opposites of these, 
" adulatio, blanditia, assentatio," is surely just; as 
they are the " vitia levium hominum atque fallacium, 
ad voluntatem loquentium omnia, nihil ad veritatem, 
sine qua nomen amicitias valere non potest," &c. — 
they are indeed like the " obsequium," which, as he 
said before, " peccatis indulgens, prgecipitem amicum 
ferri sinit." A kind of suicide, to which the other is 
accessary. 

" Cum autem omnium rerum simulatio est vitiosa, 
(tollit enim judicium veri, idque adulterat) turn ami- 
citias repugnat maxime. Delet enim veritatem, sine 
qua nomen amicitiaa valere non potest." — (Cap. 25.) 

Without sincerity there can be no real friendship ; 
for either self-interest, or corruption must be the 
object in view. 

This sincerity however needs not to have any rough- 
ness in it ; for though " secerni blandus (i. e. more 
than gentle) amicus a vero, et internosci, tarn potest, 
adhibita diligentia, quam omnia fucata, et simulata 



1 Friendship gives this : and it gives it to both sides- A friend will 
take, as well as give, reproof, but not flattery. 



72 

a sinceris atque veris :" yet, " et monere et moneri 
proprium est verse amicitise et alterum libere facere, 
non aspere : alterum patienter accipere, non repug- 
nanter" — which will hardly be done, unless the " ad- 
monition" is given with gentleness. 

" Omnino est amans sui virtus : optime enim se 
ipsa novit; quamque amabilis sit, intelligit." — (Cap. 
26.) 

Yes, but this " self-love" will have little " utilitas" 
in it, unless " virtue" is also beloved by others : take 
away the urbanity that most recommends it, and it 
may be hated, though esteemed, more perhaps than 
its mixture of pride may deserve. 

After doing justice to himself, and still more to his 
deceased friend Scipio, in both of whom was the 
" amans sui virtus, ut optime se noscens, quamque 
amabilis sit, intelligens," Lselius sums up all with, 
" virtus, virtus, inquam, C. Fanni, et tu, Q. Muci, et 
conciliat amicitias, et conservat:" describing and ex- 
patiating upon the properties and effects of virtue, 
and instancing them in various characters which he 
mentions ; ending with that of his friend, of whom he 
says, " Mihi quidem Scipio, quamquam est subito 
ereptus, vivit tamen, semperque vivet ; virtutem enim 
amavi illius viri quae extincta non est." This he 
might say with a further reference than what is con- 
tained in " nee mihi soli versatur ante oculos, qui illam 
semper in manibus habui ; sed etiam posteris erit clara 
et insignis." But more than this he probably felt 
(and Cicero with him) that he could not affirm, without 



73 

a higher authority to sanction it. Emboldened by 
that authority, we say, 

" Why then their loss deplore, who are not lost ? 
Why wanders wretched thought their tombs around, 
In infidel distress 1 Are angels there ? 
Slumbers, rak'd up in dust, etherial fire ? 
They live ! they greatly live a life on earth 
Unkindled, unconceived ; and from an eye 
Of tenderness, let heavenly pity fall 
On us, more justly number' d with the dead," &c. &c. 

The " recordatio et memoria" of his friend, and 
the diutius in hoc desiderio esse non posse, were the 
chief consolations which Lselius had for the loss of him, 
and for the privation of the enjoyments which he had 
shared with him. 

" Omnia autem brevia, tolerabilia esse debent, si 
magna sint" could afford little consolation to the sense 
of his loss, unaccompanied as it was with the hope of 
its being ever replaced — except what might be implied 
in the " nihil mali Scipioni accidisse puto :" or the 
"reditum in ccelum patere optimoque et justissimo 
cuique expeditissimum." — (Cap. 3.) 

His " magnum solatium" — " quod in hoc desiderio 
diutius esse non potuit," seems hardly to have ex- 
tended beyond the bounds of this life. 

This work of Cicero's is a sublime, and, in general 
a just description of friendship ; with the exception 
(as to both these qualities, as I have before observed) 
of the necessity of its having enemies, to prove itself 
upon. This may be friendship, but it is not the 



74 

%( charity" of the Gospel, which wants no such oppo- 
sition, to give it its greatest elevation. Laelius's friend- 
ship wants a better sanction, to raise it to a level with 
that : the best friendship is with God ; and it is the 
friendship of the Christian. In that all human in- 
terests and desires are included. Those who attempt 
to carry human benevolence higher than the Gospel 
requires, will find that altitudinibus suis ipsi se 
perdunt \ 

There is a sort of heroism, or rather of philosophical 
indifference, if not insensibility, in the declarations 
and physical comparisons of the ends of human and 
vegetable life, in the 19th chap, of " de Senectute," 
mixed indeed with a faint hope of escaping the anni- 
hilation, the " harbour" of eternal rest (which Cato 
felt his approach to, and supposed might be his destiny) 
by a continuation of existence, and enjoyment of hap- 
piness after death; a hope which, as I have said, 
appears to have been permitted to the heathens, before 
it was confirmed by the declarations of the Gospel. 
I know not whether it was to be expected from the 
pen of Cicero, crude, superficial and incomplete as 
were the religious notions of the heathens, that he 
would rest his ideas of a future existence upon the. 
justice and benevolence of the Creator, as Young does. 
The heathens had nothing to sanction this, but the 
ideas of their poets, which were so much at variance 

1 As Young says, all our fellow-creatures, except the unworthy, are 
" Proprietors eternal of our love." 



75 

with each other and with themselves, that Horace 
opposes the " perpetuus sopor" of " Quinctilius," to 
the " splendida arbitria" which " Minos" was to 
pronounce upon " Torquatus" after his death. 

And Virgil, taught no doubt by his brother poet and 
Epicurean Schoolmaster Lucretius, says, 

" Felix qui potuit rerum cognoscere causas, 
Atque metus omnes, et inexorabile fatum 
Subjecit pedibus, strepitumque Acherontis avari." 

The heathens had too much confidence in them- 
selves ; their " omnia sua in se posita ducere," had 
little humility in it : but indeed, in the agency of a 
plurality of Gods, they could not well ascribe all they 
had (their " omnia sua") to the bounty of any one of 
them. And what a substitute was their " natura" 
for this ! No, we must be told from a divine authority, 
even what appears to be essential to the common prin- 
ciples of justice ; that is, if we may apply its obliga- 
tions to the Creator and Disposer of all things. The 
ancients could look for no immortality but what was 
to perpetuate their memories on earth. Cicero tried, 
but could not succeed, either in consoling himself for 
the loss of existence, or in assuring himself of the con- 
tinuance of it, and of the enjoyment of happiness after 
death. His own death was a submission to necessity ; 
that of Cato (of Utica), a sacrifice to pride. Of that 
of Brutus I have already spoken. 

It was perhaps a little extraordinary that the an- 
cients did not admit (that I recollect) the agency 

6 



76 

of any malignant principle into their mythology, as 
that would have accounted for the existence of evil 
(which they could not but acknowledge) in a way 
similar to that of the Manichagan system ; which, 
excepting the extreme absurdity of supposing two 
opposite principles of equal power, seems to make a 
near approach to the religion of the Bible ; but how 
order was to result from such a conflict as that in 
the Manichasan system, even if Justice herself had 
held the scales^ cannot well be conceived. Lactantius, 
I think, proves the necessity of the existence of evil, 
to give occasion for the justice of God, and the free 
will of man, to exercise themselves : in this, as in 
other dispensations, the means are evidently adapted 
to the end ; why the plan, in which this adaptation 
is made, was adopted, we need neither know nor 
inquire ; the " great teacher, Death," will probably 
inform us, of what even the " docti senes" must wait 
at least with anxiety for, however the " adolescentes 
et ii quidem non solum indocti, sed etiam rustici" may 
" despise," or be indifferent about it. 

" Omnium setatum certus est terminus, Senectutis 
autem nullus certus est terminus," (Cap. 20.) shews, 
that the necessity of preparation for death (the " ex- 
trema studia senectutis," or rather the finis vitae 
totius) is enforced by the " certitude of the termina- 
tion" of each preceding age of life, and of our pro- 

1 How absurd then to suppose that if God permits evil, it is because 
He cannot prevent it ! But some prefer a bad solution to an acknow- 
ledgment of ignorance. 






77 

gress towards the end of it ; but that certitude is not 
required in the final period of our earthly existence, 
as all preparation, as well as all excuse for the delay 
of it, must then be over ; the " night is come, when 
no man can work." The " explorare, num se ad ves- 
perum esse victurum," (Cap. 19.) may be answered 
by, " Thou fool, this night shall thy soul be required 
of thee." 

I have said, in page 6, of " de Senectute," that our 
want of confidence in the expectation of a future life, 
arises apparently from the impossibility of our con- 
ceiving it ; to which I might have added, that this 
very impossibility is one of the strongest arguments 
in favor of it ; as that power of conception would have 
been equally incompatible with the enjoyment of life, 
and the fulfilment of our responsibility in it, and with 
the awful uncertainty and suspense which enforces 
that fulfilment. The promises given of a future life, 
and its rewards, are inseparably united with the ful- 
filment of the duties required for it. If we reject the 
immortality of the soul, we must reject Christianity 
too, from which the strongest assurances of that im- 
mortality are given to us ; and if Christianity is re- 
jected, man will be left to the suggestions of his own 
mind, to form a system of religion (if he forms any) 
which will have no other foundation than what those 
suggestions can give it; and we must reject all the 
evidence in favor of Christianity, all comparison of its 
excellence with the very inferior pretensions of all 
other systems of religion, which have been, more or 



78 

less, borrowed from it, but degraded by the grossest 
superstitions, (for the hands of man defile every thing, 
as the Roman Catholics have done Christianity,) and 
we shall have nothing left, but a loose system of our 
own, that will hardly admit of any interference of 
the Deity with the concerns of his creatures ; in fact, 
nothing but the barren and hopeless maxims of Epi- 
curism will remain, instead of the all-cheering and 
God-like doctrines of Christianity 1 : man will be 
thrown upon himself, and those whose fortitude is 
only what the hardness of their hearts supplies, will 
be the best able to dispense with the supports which 
the weakness of human nature so much requires ; and 
that very fortitude, liable as it is to be shaken by the 
misfortunes of life, must be maintained by a substi- 
tution of sophistical opinions in lieu of the dictates of 
reason, or by a diversion of all thought by the pursuits 
of levity, (for worldly occupations will not alone be 
sufficient,) or by the still more degrading indulgence 
of vice and depravity. 

1 If we do not allow God to be " good," we have no real inducement 
to be good ourselves, and therefore cannot be Christians. 



SOMNIUM SCIPIONIS. 

FRAGMENTUM LIBRI SEXTI CICERONIS DE 
REPUBLICA. 



Scipio loquitur. 



I. 

Cum in Africam venissem, Marco Manilio Consul! 
ad quartam legionem tribunus (ut scitis) militum; 
nihil mihi potius fuit, quam ut Masinissam conve- 
nirem, regem familise nostra? justis de causis amicis- 
simum. Ad quern ut veni, complexus me senex 
collacrymavit ; aliquantoque post suspexit in coelum, 
et " Grates," inquit, " tibi ago, summe sol, vobis- 
que, reliqui Ccelites, quod, antequam ex hac vita 
migro, conspicio in meo regno, et his tectis, Pub- 
lium Cornelium Scipionem, cujus ego nomine ipso 
recreor; ita nunquam ex animo meo discedit illius 
optimi atque invictissimi viri memoria." Deinde 
ego ilium de suo regno, ille me de nostra republica 
percontatus est : multisque verbis ultro citroque ha- 
bitis, ille nobis consumptus est dies. Post autem, 
regio apparatu accepti, sermonem in multam noc- 
tem produximus ; cum senex nihil nisi de Africano 



SCIPIO'S DREAM. 



A FRAGMENT OF THE SIXTH BOOK OF CICERO S DE 
REPUBLICA. 



Scipio speaks. 



I. 

When I arrived in Africa, where, as you know, I 
was Military Tribune to the fourth legion under the 
Consul Marcus Manilius, I had no greater wish 
than to meet with Masinissa, a King who was justly 
united in the strictest bonds of friendship with our 
family. On my introduction to him, the old man 
embraced me, with many tears ; then looking up to 
heaven, he said, " I thank thee, O supreme Sun, (a) 
and you, the rest of the ccelestial powers, that before 
my departure from this life, I am permitted in my 
own kingdom, and in this house, to see Publius Cor- 
nelius Scipio, whose very name gives me pleasure, in 
the recollection it excites of that excellent and invin- 
cible man." (b) I then asked him many questions 
respecting his kingdom, as he did me concerning our 
republic ; and the rest of that day passed in a con- 
tinued conversation between us, which, after I had 
been treated in a princely manner, we kept up for a 

(a) This and subsequent alphabetical marks refer to Notes in the 
Appendix. 

G 



82 

loqueretur, omniaque ejus non facta solum, sed dicta 
meminisset. Deinde, ut cubitum discessimus, me, 
et de via, et qui ad multam noctem vigilassem, arc- 
tior, quam solebat, somnus complexus est. Hie mihi 
(credo equidem ex hoc, quod eramus locuti, fit 
enim fere, ut cogitationes sermonesque nostri pariant 
ali quid in somno tale, quale de Homero scribit En- 
nius, de quo videlicet saapissime vigilans solebat cogi- 
tare, et loqui) Africanus se ostendit ea forma, quae 
mihi ex imagine ejus, quam ex ipso, erat notior. 
Quern ut agnovi, equidem cohorrui. Sed ille, Ades, 
inquit, animo, et omitte timorem, Scipio; et, quae 
dicam, trade memoriae. 

II. 

" Videsne illam urbem, quae, parere populo Ro- 
mano coacta per me, renovat pristina bella, nee 
potest quiescere ? (ostendebat autem Carthaginem de 
excelso, et pleno stellarum illustri et claro quodam 
loco.) Ad quam tu oppugnandam nunc venis pcene 
miles, hanc hoc biennio consul evertes ; eritque cogno- 
men id tibi per te partum, quod habes adhuc a nobis 



83 

great part of the night, during which the old man 
talked of nothing but Africaims, recollecting not 
only his actions but his words also. After we had 
retired to rest, the fatigue of my journey, and the 
lateness of the hour, threw me into a deeper sleep 
than usual ; in which, (occasioned probably by the 
subject of our conversation, as our thoughts and dis- 
courses frequently produce in our sleep what Ennius 
has recorded of himself respecting Homer, of whom 
he was used so often to think and talk at other times) 
Africanus himself appeared to me, in that form which 
was more familiar to me from his statue, than from 
my remembrance of his person. On seeing him, I 
was really struck with terror ; but he said, ' ' Recol- 
lect yourself, and lay aside your fears, Scipio ; and 
remember what I shall now say to you." 

II. 

" Do you see that city (pointing to Carthage from 
the starry eminence of the heavens, where he then 
was) which, after having been subdued to the yoke 
of the Roman people by me, again renews her former 
contest, unable as she is to rest in quiet ? As you 
are now come to war against her in the early part 
of your military life 1 , you shall, as Consul, entirely 
destroy her in the course of the next two years, by 
which you shall gain that sirname which you now 
inherit from your ancestors. And when you have 

1 Scipio was then 29 years of age. 

g2 



84 

hasreditarium. Cum autem Carthaginem deleveris, 
triumphum egeris, censorque fueris, et obieris legatus 
JEgyjytum, Syriam, Asiam, Grasciam, deligere ite- 
rum consul absens ; bellumque maximum confides ; 
Numantiam exscindes. Sed, cum eris curru Capi- 
tolium invectusj offendes rempublicam perturbatam 
consiliis nepotis mei. Hie tu, Africane, ostendas 
oportebit patriae lumen animi, ingenii, consiliique 
tui. Sed ejus temporis ancipitem video quasi fato- 
rum viam. Nam, cum aetas tua septenos octies solis 
anfractus reditusque converterit, duoque hi numeri, 
quorum uterque plenus, alter altera de causa\, habe- 
tur, circuitu natural! summam tibi fatalem confece- 
rint ; in te unum, atque in tuum ncmen, se tota 
convertet civitas ; te senatus, te omnes boni, te socii, 
te Latini, intuebuntur ; tu eris unus, in quo nitatur 
civitatis salus : ac, ne multa, dictator rempublicam 
constituas oportet, si impias propinquorum manus 
effugeris. Hie cum exclamasset Laelius, ingemuis- 
sentque caeteri vehementius; leniter arridens Scipio, 
Quaeso, inquit, ne me a somno excitetis, et parum 
rebus ; audite caetera. 



85 

put an end to the existence of Carthage, you shall 
enjoy a triumph, be appointed to the Censorship, be 
sent as a legate to Egypt, Syria, Asia, Greece, and 
be again elected Consul in your absence from Rome : 
you shall finish a war of the greatest importance, and 
you shall destroy Numantia. But, when you are 
conveyed in triumph to the capitol, you shall become 
obnoxious to the Republic 1 , through the seditious 
excitements of my grandson. Then, O Africanus, 
your country must be benefited by your genius, your 
judgment, and your counsels. But the destiny of 
that time I regard with a doubtful eye. For when 
your age shall have passed fifty-six revolutions of 
the sun, with the different qualities attached to the 
numbers of 7 and 8, multiplied by each other, which 
compose the foregoing sum, and will have completed 
their fated round 2 , the whole city will turn their atten- 
tion to you, and to your name ; the senate, all good 
men, our allies, the people of Latium, will all look to 
you ; on you alone will rest the safety of the state ; 
and in short, you will have to direct the Republic as 
its Dictator, if you shall escape from the impious hands 
of your nearest relations ;" when Lselius cried out on 
hearing this, and the others who were present, groaned 
vehemently; Scipio, gently smiling, said, " I intreat 
you not to awaken me from my sleep 3 , but to give your 
attention to what I shall now relate to you." 

1 That is, to the Rulers of it. 

2 According to the superstitious notions of the Heathens. 

3 Beautifully characteristic. 



86 



III. 



Sed, quo sis, Africane, alacrior ad tutandum rem- 

publicam, sic habeto : omnibus, qui patriam conser- 

varint, adjuverint, auxerint, certum esse in ccelo ac 

definitum locum, locum ubi beati sevo sempiterno 

fruantur. Nihil est enim illi principi Deo qui omnem 

liunc mundum regit, quod quidem in terris fiat, 

acceptius, quam concilia ccetusque hominum, jure 

sociati, quae civitates appellantur. Harum rectores 

et conservatores, hinc profecti, hue revertuntur. Hie 

ego, etsi eram perterritus, non tarn metu mortis, 

quam insidiarum a meis, quassivi tamen, viveretne 

ipse et Paulus pater, et ahi, quos nos exstinctos 

arbitraremur. Immo vero, inquit, ii vivunt, qui ex 

corporum vinculis, tanquam e carcere, evolaverunt; 

vestra vero, quae dicitur vita, mors est. Quin tu 

adspicias ad te venientem Paulum patrem. Quern 

ut vidi, equidem vim lacrymarum profudi. Ille 

autem, me complexus atque osculans, nere prohibe- 

bat. Atque ego, ut primum, fletu represso, loqui 

posse ccepi, Quaeso, inquam, pater sanctissime atque 

optime, quoniam haac est vita, (ut Africanum audio 

6 



87 



III 



" But, O Africanus (continued the -apparition) that 
you may be more zealous in the defence of the 
Republic, rely upon this ; that for all those who shall 
have saved, assisted, or aggrandized their country, a 
certain and destined place is reserved, where they 
shall enjoy an eternal felicity. For to the Supreme 
Governor of the universe, there is nothing on earth 
which is dearer (c), than those assemblies and societies 
of men who are connected by one common system of 
jurisprudence, and are considered as forming one 
state; the governors and preservers of these being 
sent from hence, hither also return." Here, says 
Scipio, though I was alarmed, not so much with the 
fear of death, as with the apprehension of treachery 
in my near relations 1 , I yet enquired, whether my 
father Paulus, and the others, whom we considered 
as dead, were still living. " Yes," said he, " all 
those live, who have escaped from the chains of their 
bodies, as from a prison ; for the existence which 
you call life, is the real death (d), and you may now 
see your father Paulus coming towards you." On 
seeing him, indeed, I shed abundance of tears; he, 
however, embracing and kissing me, forbad me to 
weep. Then I, as soon as my tears would allow me 
to speak, said, " Tell me, O my most revered and 
excellent Parent, if this be really life (as I hear 
Africanus say) why do I remain any longer on earth ? 

1 Who were afterwards supposed to have strangled him. 



88 

dicere) quid moror in terris ? Quin hue ad vos venire 
propero ? Non est ita, inquit ille. Nisi Deus is, cujus 
hoc templum est omne quod conspicis, istis te cor- 
poris custodiis liberaverit, hue tibi aditus patere non 
potest. Homines enim sunt hac lege generati, qui 
tuerentur ilium globum, quern in hoc templo medium 
vides, qua? terra dicitur ; hisque animus datus est ex 
illis sempiternis ignibus, quae sidera et stellas vocatis ; 
quae, globosae et rotundae, divinis animatae mentibus, 
circulos suos orbesque conficiunt celeritate mirabili. 
Quare et tibi, Publi, et piis omnibus, retinendus est 
animus in custodia corporis; nee, injussu ejus a quo 
ille est vobis datus, ex hominum vita migrandum est ; 
ne munus humanum, assignatum a Deo, defugisse 
videamini. Sed sic, Scipio, ut avus hie tuus, ut ego 
qui te genui, justitiam cole, et pietatem ; quae cum 
sit magna in parentibus et propinquis, turn in patria 
maxima est ; ea vita via est in ccelum, et in hunc cce- 
tum eorum, qui jam vixerunt, et, corpore laxati, ilium 
incolunt locum, quern vides. Erat autem is splendi- 
dissimo candore inter flammas circus elucens, quern vos 
(ut a Graiis accepistis) orbem lacteum nuncupatis ; 



89 

Why should I not hasten to come to you?" "This 
must not be, answered he, until that God, whose 
temple is every thing that you see, has freed you 
from the custody of your body, you can have no en- 
trance here, for men are created under the law which 
obliges them to take care of that globe, which you 
see in the middle of this universal temple, and which 
is called the earth ; and to them a mind is given (e) 
from those eternal fires which you call the stars ; 
which being spherical, and animated with divine intel- 
ligence (/), perform their revolutions (cj) in the orbits 
in which they move, with astonishing rapidity ; where- 
fore you, O Publius, and all who venerate the Gods, 
are bound to preserve your minds in the keeping of 
your bodies ; for it is not lawful for you to quit the 
life you are now in, unless it is the immediate will of 
Him who gave you your mind and body ; for in so 
doing you will have deserted the post assigned to you 
by Him \ Therefore, O Scipio, follow justice and 
piety, as your grandfather and I, who begot you, have 
done ; — and remember, that as those virtues are great 
when exercised towards your own relations, they are 
the greatest of all when exercised in the service of 
your country (li) : such a life is the proper way to heaven, 
and to the society of those who, being freed from the 
bodies in which they formerly lived, now inhabit the 
place you see." Then looking around me, I beheld 
a shining circle, of the most dazzling brightness, 
and surrounded by flames, which you, as having been 
taught by the Greeks, call the milky way; from 

1 As Cicero says iu his dialogue, De Senectute, " Vetat Pythagoras, 
injussu Imperatoris, id est Dei, de prsesidio et statione vitae decedere." 



90 

ex quo omnia mihi contemplanti praeclara caetera et 
mirabilia videbantur. Erant autem eae stellae, quas 
nunquam ex hoc loco vidimus ; et eae magnitudines 
omnium, quas esse nunquam suspicati sumus ; ex 
quibus erat ilia minima quae, ultima ccelo, citima terris, 
luce lucebat alien a. Stellarum autem globi terras 
magnitudinem facile vincebant. Jam ipsa terra ita 
mihi parva visa est, ut me imperii nostri, quo quasi 
punctum ejus attingimus, pceniteret. 

IV. 

Quam cum magis intuerer, Quaeso, inquit Afri- 
canus, quousque humi defixa tua mens erit ? Nonne 
adspicis, quae in templa veneris ? Novem tibi orbibus 
vel potius globis, connexa sunt omnia : quorum unus 
est ccelestis, extimus, qui reliquos omnes complec- 
titur, summus ipse Deus, arcens et continens caeteros ; 
in quo infixi sunt illi, qui volvuntur, stellarum cursus 
sempiterni ; cui subjecti sunt septem, qui versan- 
tur retro, contrario motu, atque ccelum : et quibus 
unum globum possidet ilia, quam in terris Saturniam * 
nominant. Deinde est hominum generi prosperus 

1 Why not Satumum ? 



91 

whence all the other illustrious and wonderful ob- 
jects were open to my view. Among these were 
stars which we have never seen from our earth, and 
of a magnitude of which we have no idea ; and among 
these was that very small one, which, being the lowest 
in heaven, and nearest to our earth, shone with a 
borrowed light. The spheres of the stars (i) far sur- 
passed that of the earth in magnitude 1 ; and the earth 
itself appeared so small, that I was ashamed of our 
empire, which seemed but a point in it. 

IV. 

While my attention was more and more fixed on 
our earth, wherefore, says Africanus, do your regards 
dwell on so low an object? Do not you see what a 
temple you are now in ? You may observe (j) that 
all things are connected by nine circles, or rather 
spheres, one of which is the most elevated, and is 
exterior to all the rest, which it embraces, as being 
the supreme God, impelling and comprehending the 
others 2 ; and in it the eternal revolutions of the stars 
are continually carried on : to this, seven are ap- 
pended, which revolve in a contrary direction from 
the rest of the heavens 3 ; and of these one is occupied 
by the body which on earth is called Saturn ; the 
next is that favorable and salutary 4 light which pro- 

1 As the star in Lyra is now supposed to do, relatively to our sun> 

2 This is at least better than Spinoza's system. 

3 That is, they appear to do so, as the latter are stationary. 

4 As appears to us. 



92 

et salutaris ille fulgor, qui dicitur Jo vis ; turn rutilus 
horribilisque terris, quern Martem dicitis * ; deinde 
subter mediam fere regionem, Sol obtinet, dux, et 
princeps, et moderator luminum reliquorum, mens 
mundi, et temperator, tanta magnitudine ut cuncta 
sua luce illustret, et compleat. Hunc, ut comites, 
consequuntur, Veneris alter, alter Mercurii cursus ; 
in infimoque orbe, Luna, radiis solis accensa, con- 
vertitur. Infra autem jam nihil est, nisi mortale et 
caducum, prseter animos generi hominum munere 
Deorum datos. Supra lunam sunt seterna omnia; 
nam ea, quae est media et nona, tellus, neque move- 
tur, et infima est, et in earn feruntur omnia suo nutu 
pondera. 

V. 
Qvm cum intuerer stupens, ut me recepi, Quid? 
hie, inquam, quis est, qui complet aures meas, tantus 
et tarn dulcis sonus ? Hie est, inquit ille, qui, inter- 
vallis conjunctus imparibus, sed tamen pro rata parte 
ratione distinctis, impulsu et motu ipsorum orbium 
conficitur; qui, acuta cum gravibus temperans, va- 
rios aequabiliter concentus efflcit. Nee enim silentio 
tanti motus excitari possunt ; et natura fert, ut 
extrema ex altera parte graviter, ex altera autem 
acute sonent. Quam ob causam, summus ille cceli 

1 How well this agrees with the apparent lights of Jupiter and Mars ! 



93 

ceeds from Jupiter ; next to this is the red and hor- 
rible iire of Mars ; under which is the nearly middle 
region, (k) possessed by the Sun, the leader, prince, and 
moderator of the other lights, the soul of the world, 
which it regulates, and illumines, and fills all things 
with its light. This is accompanied by two other 
circles ; one that of Venus, the other Mercury ; and 
the lowest of all is the Moon in her orbit, and she is 
enlightened by the rays of the Sun. Below this there 
is nothing but what is mortal and perishable, except- 
ing the minds that are given to mankind by the Gods. 
Above the Moon all is eternal ; for the earth, which 
is the ninth, and the centre of all the rest, is immove- 
able, and being the lowest, all the others gravitate 
towards it. 

V. 

When I had recovered myself from the astonish- 
ment in which I was lost at the contemplation of 
these things, I said, what is this great and delight- 
ful sound (I) which now fills my ears ? It is, replied 
he, that which, being composed of parts which are 
connected by unequal distances, and yet having de- 
termined" spaces between them, is produced by the 
impulse and motion of all the different orbs ; which, 
mixing the sharper with the deeper tones, form one 
general and varied harmony. For it is not in silence 
that such mighty movements can be carried on ; and 
it is a law of nature, that the extremes on one side 
shall have a deep, and those on the other an acute 
sound. For which reason, that supreme circle of the 



94 

stellifer cursus, cujus conversio est concitatior, acuto 
et excitato movetur sono ; gravissimo autem hie 
lunaris atque infimus. Nam terra, nona, immobilis 
m aliens, ima sede semper haeret, complexa medium 
mundi locum ; illi autem octo cursus, in quibus eadem 
vis est duorum *, Mercurii et Veneris, septem efficiunt 
distinctos intervallis sonos; qui numerus rerum om- 
nium fere nodus est. Quod docti homines nervis 
imitati atque cantibus, aperuere sibi reditum in hunc 
locum; sicut alii qui prasstantibus ingeniis in vita 
humana divina studia coluerunt. Hoc sonitu oppletas 
aures hominum obsurduerunt 2 ; nee est ullus hebetior 
sensus in vobis 3 ; sicut, ubi Nilus ad ilia, quae Cata- 
dupa nominantur, praecipitat ex altissimis montibus, 
ea gens, quae ilium locum accolit, propter magnitu- 
dinem sonitus, sensu audiendi caret. Hie vero tantus 
est totius mundi incitatissima, conversione sonitus, ut 
eum aures hominum capere non possint, sicut intueri 
solem adversum nequitis, ej usque radiis acies vestra 
sensusque vincitur. Haec ego admirans, referebam 
tamen oculos ad terrain identidem. 



1 Mercury and Venus move with the same celerity in their orbits ! 
How have the calculations of the Ancients been formed ? 

2 Should not this be " obsurduenwi ? u 

3 Then men are more " deaf" than blind. 



95 

starry heavens, whose revolution is quicker, is moved 
with a shrill and piercing, while the lunar and low- 
est one has a very deep sound. As to the earth, 
which is the ninth body, occupying the middle place 
in the universe, that is always immoveably fixed 
to the lowest part of it ; but those eight revolutionary 
circles, of which the two of Mercury and Venus are 
moved with the same celerity — give out sounds that 
are divided by seven distinct intervals (m) ; which is 
generally the regulating number of all things. And 
their being imitated by skilful men, in stringed in- 
struments and vocal music, has opened to them (n) 
their return to this place ; as the talents, which have 
qualified others for divine pursuits in human life, 
have also to them. The ears of men, if struck with 
the full force of this sound, would be deafened by 
it ; in the same manner as those who inhabit the 
places which are called Catadupa, where the Nile 
precipitates itself from the highest mountains, are 
deprived of their hearing by the greatness of the 
sound. But here the sound, excited by the pro- 
digious rapidity of the movement of the whole uni- 
verse, is so great, that the ears of men could not 
possibly bear it, any more than their eyes could bear 
the direct contemplation of the rays of the sun, which 
would entirely destroy the sight." As much as I ad- 
mired all these things, I still kept my eyes fixed on 
the earth. 



96 



VI. 



Tum Africanus, sentio, inquit, te sedem etiam 
nunc hominum ac domum contemplari ; quae si tibi 
parva, ut est, ita videtur, haec coelestia semper spec- 
tato ; ilia humana contemnito. Tu enim quam cele- 
britatem sermonis hominum, aut quam expetendam 
gloriam consequi potes ? Vides habitari in terra raris 
et angustis in locis; et in ipsis quasi maculis, ubi 
habitatur, vastas solitudines interjectas ; hosque, qui 
incolunt terram, non modd interruptos ita esse, ut 
nihil inter ipsos ab aliis ad alios manare possit ; sed 
partim obliquos, partim aversos, partim etiam ad- 
versos stare vobis : a quibus expectare gloriam certe 
nullam potestis. Cernis autem eamdem terram, quasi 
quibusdam redimitam et circumdatam cingulis ; e qui- 
bus duos, maxime inter se diversos, et coeli verti- 
cibus ipsis ex utraque parte subnixos, obriguisse 
pruina vides : medium autem ilium, et maximum 
solis ardore torreri. Duo sunt habitabiles, quorum 
Australis ille, in quo qui insistunt, adversa vobis 
urgent vestigia, nihil ad vestrum genus. Hie autem 
alter, subjectus Aquiloni, quern incolitis, cerne, quam 
tenui vos parte contingat. Omnis enim terra, qua? 



97 



Then Africanus said, " I perceive that you are 
still contemplating the seats and habitations of men, 
but if those appear to you as small as they really 
are, you should rather contemplate these celestial 
objects 1 and despise those merely terrestrial ones. 
For what celebrity can you expect to obtain from 
the discourses of men, or what glory can there result 
to you from them ? You see that they inhabit few 
and confined places in the earth ; and even in those 
diminutive spots, there are comparatively vast deserts 
intermixed ; and the inhabitants of the earth are not 
only so separated from each other, that there can be 
no communication between them ; but part of them 
are placed in a different direction from yours, others 
with their backs turned to you 2 , and others in a totally 
opposite direction ; and from these you certainly can 
expect to derive no glory. You see also that your earth 
is at it were bound, and surrounded by certain zones ; 
two of which, totally opposite to each other, and each 
under the immediate vault of the heavens, you may 
observe are equally congealed by frost ; while the 
middle and largest of the zones, is burnt up by the 
heat of the sun. Two are habitable (o) ; of which that 
Southern one is inhabited by those whose steps are 
always turned from, but never towards you. And of 

1 In the " mind's eye" no doubt Africanus means. 
3 As if they were looking towards the Poles! 
H 



colitur a vobis, angusta verticibus, lateribus latior, 
parva quasdam insula est, circumfusa illo mari, quod 
Atlanticum, quod magnum, quern Oceanum appellatis 
in terris ; qui tamen, tanto nomine, quam sit parvus, 
vides. Ex his ipsis cultis notisque terris, num aut 
tuum aut cujusquam nostrum nomen, vel Caucasum 
hunc, quern cernis, transcendere potuit, vel ilium 
Gangem transnatare? Quis in reliquis orientis aut 
obeuntis solis ultimis aut Aquilonis Austrive par- 
tibus, tuum nomen audiet ? quibus amputatis, cernis 
profecto, quantis in angustiis vestra gloria se dilatari 
velit ! Ipsi autem, qui de vobis loquuntur, quam 
loquentur diu ? 



VII. 



Quin etiam, si cupiat proles ilia futurorum homi- 
num deinceps laudes uniuscujusque nostrum, a pa- 
tribus acceptas, posteris prodere ; tamen, propter 
eluviones exustionesque terrarum, quas accidere 
tempore certo necesse est, non modo seternam, sed 
ne diuturnam quidem gloriam assequi possumus. 
Quid autem interest, ab iis qui postea nascentur, 
sermonem fore de te, cum ab iis nullus fuerit, qui 



99 

this other Northern one, which you inhabit, you may 
see what a small part is occupied by you. For all 
the land, which is under your subjection, is a certain 
small Island,, narrow at its extremities, and broader 
at its sides, and is surrounded by that sea, which, on 
earth you call the great Atlantic Ocean ; and which, 
with this magnificent name, you see the trifling extent 
of; and even in these cultivated and well-known 
countries, has yours, or any of our names ever passed 
the heights of Caucasus, or the expanse of the Ganges ? 
In what other parts, to the North or the South, or 
where the Sun rises or sets, will your name ever be 
heard? And excluding these, how small a space is 
there left for your glory to spread itself in ? And 
how long will it remain in the memory of those, whose 
minds are now full of it ? 

VII. 

Besides all this, if the progeny of any future 
generation should wish to transmit to their posterity 
the praises of any one of us, which they have heard from 
their forefathers ; yet the deluges and combustions of 
the earth, which must necessarily happen at their 
destined periods 1 , will prevent our obtaining, not only 
an eternal, but even a glory of any lasting duration. 
And after all, what does it signify, whether those, who 
shall hereafter be born, talk of you, of whom those 
who preceded them, and who were not fewer in 

V Cicero seems here to magnify local, into universal events. 

h2 



100 

ante nati sint ? qui nee pauciores, et certe meliores, 
fuerunt viri ; cum prsesertim apud eos ipsos, a qui- 
bus audiri nomen nostrum potest, nemo unius 
anni memoriam consequi possit : homines enim, 
populariter annum tantummodo solis, id est, unius 
astri, reditu metiuntur ; cum autem ad idem, unde 
semel profecta sunt, cuncta astra redierint, eam- 
demque totius cceli descriptionem longis intervallis 
retulerint, turn ille vere vertens annus appellari 
potest ; in quo vix dicere audeo, quam multa se- 
cula hominum teneantur. Namque, ut olim deficere 
Sol hominibus exstinguique visus est, cum Romuli 
animus haec ipsa in templa penetravit ; ita, quan- 
doque eadem parte Sol, eodemque tempore, iterum 
defecerit, turn, signis omnibus ad idem principium, 
stellisque revocatis, expletum annum habeto. Hu- 
jus quidem anni nondum vicesimam partem scito esse 
conversam. Quocirca, si reditum in hunc locum 
desperaveris, in quo omnia sunt magnis et prsestan- 
tibus viris; quanti tandem est ista hominum gloria, 
quae pertinere vix ad unius anni partem exiguam 
potest ? Igitur alte spectare si voles, atque hanc 
sedem et aeternam domum contueri ; neque te ser- 



101 

number, and were certainly better 1 men, made no 
mention ? Especially when, of those amongst whom 
our names may be heard, not one can retain the 
memory of a single year ; for men commonly measure 
their years by the revolutions of the Sun, that is, of 
one of the Stars ; but when all the Stars shall have 
revolved in their orbits, and returned to the point 
from which they first set out, and shall have marked (p) 
the same track through the immensity of celestial 
space, at vast distances of time, then a whole year 
may be truly said to have elapsed ; in which I hardly 
dare to say how many ages of man are contained. 
For, as the Sun appeared to abandon mankind, and 
to be itself extinguished in darkness, when the soul 
of Romulus was received into this great temple ; so, 
when the same Sun shall, at the destined period, be 
again extinguished, and all the Signs and Stars of 
heaven are recalled to their primseval state, the year 
may be considered as being completed, of which the 
twentieth part is not yet passed. Wherefore if the 
hope is abandoned of a return to this place, in which 
great and excellent men are perfected in enjoyment ; 
what is the glory that remains for men, which can 
hardly last for a small part of a single year ? If then 
you wish to elevate your views to the contemplation 
of this eternal seat of glory, you will not be satisfied 

1 This answers, as I have elsewhere observed, to Horace's 
" iEtas parentum, pejor avis, tulit 
Nos nequiores, mox daturos 

Progeniem vitiosiorem." 



102 

monibus vulgi dederis, nee in praemiis humanis spem 
posueris rerum tuarum : suis te, oportet, illecebris 
ipsa virtus trahat ad verum decus. Quid de te alii 
loquantur, ipsi videant; sed loquentur tamen. Ser- 
mo autem omnis ille et angustiis cingitur iis regio- 
num quas vides ; nee miquam de ullo perennis fuit ; 
et obruitur hominum interitu; et oblivione posteri- 
tatis exstinguitur. 

VIII. 
Qvje cum dixisset, Ego vero, inquam, O Africane, 
si quidem bene mentis de patria quasi limes ad 
cceli aditum patet, quamquam, a pueritia vestigiis 
ingressus patriis et tuis, decori vestro non defui ; 
nunc tamen, tanto prsemio proposito, enitar multo 
vigilantius. Et ille, Tu vero enitere ; et sic habeto, 
non esse te mortalem, sed corpus hoc. Nee enim 
tu is es, quern forma ista declarat ; sed mens cujus- 
que, is est quisque; non ea flgura, quae digito de- 
monstrari potest. Deum te igitur scito esse; siqui- 
dem Deus est, qui viget, qui sentit, qui meminit, qui 
providet, qui tarn regit et moderatur et movet id 
corpus cui propositus est, quam hunc mundum ille 
princeps Deus : et ut mundum ex quadam parte 
mortalem ipse Deus eeternus, sic fragile corpus ani- 
mus sempiternus movet. Nam, quod semper move- 



103 

with the praises of your fellow-mortals, nor with any 
human rewards that your exploits can attain ; but 
virtue herself will point to you the true and only object 
worthy of her pursuit. Leave to others to speak of 
you as they may, for speak they will. Their discourses 
will be confined to the narrow limits of the countries 
which you see ; nor will their duration be more ex- 
tended ; for they will perish like those who utter them, 
and will be no more remembered by their posterity. 

VIII. 

When he ceased to speak, I said, O Africanus, if 
indeed the door of heaven is open to those who have 
deserved well of their country, whatever progress I 
may have made since my childhood, in following yours 
and my father's steps, I will from henceforth strive to 
follow them still more closely. " Follow them then," 
said he ; " and consider your body only, not yourself, 
as mortal ; for it is not your outward form that con- 
stitutes your being, but your mind ; not that substance 
which is palpable to the senses. Know then that you 
are a god : for a god it must be that vivifies, and gives 
sensation, memory, foresight, to the body to which it 
is attached, and which it governs and regulates, as the 
Supreme Ruler does the world which is subject to him ; 
and as that eternal Being (q) moves whatever is mortal 
of this world, so the immortal mind of man moves the 
frail body to which it is attached. For what is always 1 

1 What is this "always?" and must what is "always moved," ne- 
cessarily move itself? So then must the celestial bodies. 



104 

tur, aeternum est: quod autem motum affert alicui, 
quodque ipsum agitatur aliunde ; quando finem 
habet motus, vivendi finem habeat, necesse est *. 
Solum igitur, quod sese movet, quia nunquam de- 
seritur a se, nunquam ne moveri quidem desinit; 
quin etiam caeteris, quae moventur, hie fons, hoc prin- 
cipium est movendi 2 . Principio autem nulla est origo ; 
nam ex principio oriuntur omnia ; ipsum autem nul- 
la ex re alia nasci potest : nee enim id esset prin- 
cipium, quod gigneretur aliunde 3 . Quod si nunquam 
oritur ne occidet quidem unquam. nam principium ex- 
stinctum nee ipsum ab alio renascetur, nee ex se aliud 
creavit ; siquidem necesse est a principio 4 oriri omnia. 
Ita fit, ut motus principium ex eo sit quod ipsum a 
se movetur (id autem nee nasci potest, nee mori) ; vel 
concidat omne ccelum, omnisque natura, et consistat, 
necesse est, nee vim ullam nanciscatur, qua a primo 
impulsa moveatur. 

1 Sed motum corpori afFert animus ; et nonne ipse agitari aliunde 
potest? Agitatio vero ista seterna esse potest: Tamquam Deus ipse, 
qui hominum animos movit, asternus est. 

2 In Deo autem, arcente et continente, sunt omnia : et sua Deus nun- 
quam deserit : animus igitur solus ille supremus erit. 

3 Principium autem origo esse potest : sed non (ut dicam) origo 
efficiens. Qui efficit, ille principium statuit: aut, si velis, ipse princi- 
pium est. 

4 Id est, a Deo. 



105 

moved must be eternal; but what derives its motion 
from a power which is foreign to itself, and by which 
itself is moved, when that motion ceases *, must itself 
lose its animation. That alone, then, which moves 
itself, can never cease to be moved, because it can 
never desert itself 2 ; and it must be the source and 
origin of motion in all the rest ; there can be nothing 
prior to this origin, for all things must originate from 
it : itself cannot derive its existence from any other 
source, for if it did, it would no longer be primary. 
And if it had no beginning, it can have no end 3 ; for 
a beginning that is put an end to, will neither be re- 
newed by any other cause, nor will it produce any 
thing else of itself; all things therefore must originate 
from one source 4 . Thus it follows that motion must 
have its source in what is moved by itself; and which 
can neither have a beginning nor an end : otherwise 
all the heavens, and all nature must perish ; impossible 
as it is, that they can of themselves acquire any power 
of producing motion in themselves. 



1 And why should this divine impulse ever cease ? O " vain 
imaginings I" 

2 What a fertile source of eloquence a " datum" (or " postulatum") 
— is ! 

3 True : but is the previous reasoning consistent with this ? Perhaps 
it may ; allowing for a little perplexity. 

4 " Vain imaginings," still. 

Hominum mentes (I repeat it) altitudinibus suis se perdunt. 



106 



IX. 

Cum pateat igitur, aeternum id esse quod a se 
ipso moveatur, quis est, qui hanc naturam animis 
esse tributam neget ? Inanimum est errim omne, quod 
pulsu agitatur externo ; quod autem animal est, id 
inotu cietur interiore, et suo ; nam haec est natura 
propria animi, atque vis. Quae si est una ex omnibus, 
quae sese moveat, neque nata est certe, et aeterna est. 
Hanc tu exerce in optimis rebus. Sunt autem 
optimae curae, de salute patriae ; quibus agitatus et 
exercitatus animus velocius in hanc sedem et domum 
suam pervolabit ; idque ocyus faciet, si jam turn, 
cum erit inclusus in corpore, eminebit foras, et ea, 
quae extra erunt, contemplans, quam maxime se a 
corpore abstrabet. Namque eorum animi, qui se 
corporis voluptatibus dediderunt, earumque se quasi 
ministros praebuerunt, impulsuque libidinum 1 volup- 
tatibus obedientium, Deorum et hominum jura viola- 
verunt, corporibus elapsi, circum terram ipsam vo- 
lutantur; nee hunc in locum, nisi multis exagitati 
saeculis, revertuntur. Ille discessit ; ego somno 
solutus sum. 

1 Hseccine " externse" sunt ? 






107 



IX. 

As therefore it is plain, that what is moved by 
itself must be eternal, who will deny that this is the 
general condition of minds ? For every thing is in- 
animate which is moved by an impulse exterior to 
itself; but what is animated is moved by an interior 
impulse of its own ; for this is the peculiar nature and 
power of mind. And if that alone has the power of 
self-motion, it can neither have had a beginning, nor 
can it have an end. Do you therefore exercise this 
mind of yours in the best pursuits ; which consist in 
promoting the good of your country: such employ- 
ments will speed the night of your mind to this its 
proper abode ; and its flight will be still more rapid, 
if it will look abroad and disengage itself from its bodily 
dwelling, in the contemplation of the things which 
are external to itself 1 . This it will do to the utmost 
of its power. For the minds of those, who have given 
themselves up to the pleasures of the body, paying as 
it were a servile obedience to their lustful impulses, 
have violated the laws of God and men, and therefore 
when separated from their bodies, they are doomed to 
flutter continually round the earth in which they lived ; 
and are not allowed to return to this place, till they 
have been purified by the agitations of many ages." 
Thus saying, he left me, and I awoke from my sleep. 

1 Glorious is the power we have of doing this, though not always the 
source of pleasure ; for the " cud of fancy" is both sweet and bitter. 



108 

I believe that my thinking readers will sympathize 
with me in the pleasure I have felt in thus bringing 
Young and Cicero together, with other advocates, 
ancient and modern, whom I have quoted in support 
of a cause which they all had more or less in view 
(Religion), and which is best supported by the Bible, 
the great support of all who believe the truths which 
it contains. 

Cicero's Astronomy and Philosophy were quite suffi- 
cient to make Deists ; but more is required, and has 
been given, to make Christians. 



APPENDIX. 



(a) " I thank thee, O supreme Sun," Sfc. 

This is an instance of the adoration paid by the ancients to 
sensible objects, which, as they conceived, derived their power 
of motion from themselves, and were therefore of a divine nature. 
This was judging from the evidence of the senses, which can give 
us no idea of an impelling power which is not visible to them ; 
although it might be fairly inferred from a connected train of 
reasoning from effects to their causes ; but even this appears to 
be beyond the power of man (acquired as we see his knowledge 
is) till he has been enlightened by a communication from a 
higher intelligence. 

(b) " That excellent and invincible man." 

This eulogium on the elder Africanus did Masinissa the more 
credit (supposing him to have really spoken it) as the recollection 
of Sophonisba must have made him sensible of the blame that 
it reflected on himself. 

(c) For to the supreme Governor of the Universe, there is nothing 
on earth which is dearer," fyc. 

That is, the regards of the Deity are influenced by the varying 
interests and passions of men, in a state of society. Such is the 
connexion, which the Heathen Philosophy established, between 



110 

God and his creatures on earth. 'Tis true, that the Gentiles are 
to be "judged by their own laws ;" but that surely must be, as 
far as those laws are agreeable to the immutable laws of Justice ; 
that is, of God himself. To these, Patriotism itself must bow. 

(d) " The existence which you call life, is the real death." 

How much this coincides with St. Paul's words, " Set your 
affections on things above, not on things on the earth ; for you 
are dead, and your life is hid with Christ in God." — That is, 
where He is, there shall you be also, for ever. 

(e) " To them a mind is given by those eternal fires" fyc. 

Here is a strange mixture of truth and falsehood, resulting from 
a sense of the necessity of referring all to a Supreme Cause, and 
a want of that information from above which can alone enable us 
to look higher than to the subordinate action of visible objects. 

(/) " Animated with Divine intelligence." 
Animated ! and by whom ? Certainly not by themselves. 

(g) " Perform their revolutions," Sfc. 

Yes, perform them (supposing they really revolve) but not 
" quia ipsae a se moventur." But Newton himself could not 
explain the cause (otherwise than by resolving it into infinite 
power and wisdom) which gave them their first impulse, and 
still sustains it: and to which, his " gravitation, centripetal and 
centrifugal force," &c. must all be referred. 

" The course of nature is the art of God." — (Night Thoughts). 

An infinite cause must have an infinite action. Cicero's highest 
flight seems to be the " orbis extimus, qui reliquos omnes com- 
plectitur ; summus ipse Deus ; arcens et continens caeteros," &c. 
Bat even here, ubiquity is lost sight of. No, the natural extent 
6 



Ill 

of man's mental, seems to be that of his visual sight. One of 
the greatest acquirements that the mind of man has made, seems 
to be, the power of calculating what the Divine mind has or- 
dained, in the revolutions of the celestial bodies, the occurrence 
of eclipses, &c. 

Metaphysics itself is only a sublimer kind of physics ; for 
what is ' ' behind" nature, or what does nature itself receive its 
impulses from, but its Author ? But there the mind of man 
cannot reach : it can only " look up" to Him through his works. 
To see the Author himself, indeed, would only be a step farther 
in abstraction ; but that step would be into infinity ! — That 
we shall see Him hereafter is our dearest hope. 

(Ji) "In the service of your country ." 

This seems to have been the summum bonum of Cicero and 
his patriotic countrymen ; excited as it maybe by other motives 
than the pure desire to fulfil the will of God, which alone can 
refine it from all the dross of human ambition. He has required 
of us " to do justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with 
him ;" a most comprehensive sum of duty, no doubt, and re- 
ferrible to all other obligations beyond those which we owe chiefly 
to our fellow-creatures, our duties to whom are all comprised in 
that which we owe to God. The patriotism of the ancients 
looked not so high, nor did it rate itself so low : its own glory 
was its idol. There are passages however in this work that seem 
to indicate higher views. 

(i) " The spheres of the stars," fyc. 

This is a wonderful stretch of human intellect, founded indeed 
on an erroneous system of Astronomy, which supposed all the 
stars to move round the earth, as the central body. This too, 
proceeded from the information of the senses, not the deductions 
of reason. 



112 



(j) " You may observe," fyc. 

Here again the sublimity of man's conceptions shows itself as 
strongly as the imperfection of his reasoning powers, or at least 
his use of them, shows itself, as well in accounting for secondary 
causes, as in referring them to their primary source. 

(Jc) " Nearly middle region" fyc. 

But how is this ? The Sun is here represented as a central 
body (or nearly so) revolving round another central body, the 
earth. It seems that our senses may lead us not only into errors, 
but into contradictions. It is true that there maybe cycles and 
epicyles, as in Lambert's system J ; but does not Cicero else- 
where talk of the " supreme Sun, illumining," &c. — and after- 
wards mention the Moon as being particularly illumined by it ? 
Cicero seems to place the Sun in the middle of the celestial (or 
more properly the planetary Host, to which he seems to confine 
him) like a general " dux et princeps," in the centre of his 
army. How confused at any rate must the Astronomical notions 
of the ancients have been, till the enlightened times of Christi- 
anity ! For though the Jews had not the true information given 
them (which indeed they were not capable of receiving) along 

1 Lambert's system, which makes the universe consist of cycle within 
cycle, all revolving round one common centre, which is the immediate 
throne of the Deity ; a vast and perhaps visionary system, and liable to 
the additional objection of giving locality to Omnipresence. If St. John's 
Revelation is urged in favour of it, it may be said, that the descriptions 
in that are suited to human knowledge and experience, as are many 
passages in the Old Testament. Should not this make us cautious Of 
entering into detailed explanations 1 The neglect of this caution seems 
to be punished by the discord it produces. Our Saviour indeed came to 
" bring peace and goodwill towards man ;" but the human passions 
wield the " sword ;" and he knew, and left them to their free agency. 



113 

with their religious and moral system, yet I think we may con- 
clude, that it gradually followed the sublime acknowledgment of 
a supreme Ruler and Creator, to whom all creation is subor- 
dinate. Would Newton otherwise have made that ultimate 
reference ? For it must be made somewhere, as we see Cicero 
does to his " orbis extimus." The sense of our weakness and 
ignorance ought to lead us to the acknowledgment of superior, 
and finally supreme power and knowledge. 

(Z) " What is this great and delightful sound?" 

The harmony of the spheres, which Cicero elsewhere considers 
as a fable, as most men probably do now. But how are we to 
limit perceptions, or the possibility of what may relate to them ? 
How are we to interpret " shall he who made the eye, not see ? 
who made the ear, not hear?'' &c. Sounds, as well as motion, 
and consequently the perception of them, may have their gra- 
dations, as indeed we see in animate and inanimate objects ; and 
as we may conceive the possibility of in those which are far 
above our sight, hearing, or imagination. The perceptions of an 
infinite and supreme Being must be as unbounded as his other 
attributes ; our finite ones are proportioned to the sensible im- 
pulses that are necessary to excite them, and to what they can 
bear ; as appears (if the fact is true) from what is afterwards 
said of the effect of the falls of the Nile. Perceptions indeed 
may suppose some contact (as there certainly is in ours) between 
the sense (or organ of it) and the object perceived ; and so may 
lead to materialism ; but 1 know not why spirit may not be sup- 
posed to be the highest degree of attenuation in matter ; as be- 
yond this it should seem that there must be nothing, which is a 
total abstraction from matter, of all its qualities 1 . This attenu- 
ation may be quite as unperceivable by man, (who "hath not 

1 And indeed a negation of all existence. For what existence can 
there be in total abstraction ? 

I 



114 

seen God at any time") as unsubstantial spirit itself, and though 
it may at first appear to sanction Cicero's " orbis extimus," and 
even to approach to Spinosism, yet by giving it infinity and 
ubiquity, (which we must attribute to the great Creator and 
Governor of the universe) I should think it may be kept clear 
of both these imputations ; and no less so of that of infidelity 
to Christianity ; for what bounds can we assign to the power 
and the mercy of God ? 

To what I have said above, I may add, that I do not see why 
an abstraction from all perceptibility should necessitate an 
abstraction from all possibility of conception, or of any ap- 
proach towards it ; nor do I see, why all existence, divine and 
human, spiritual or corporeal, should not be contained within 
the extremes of analogy. The scriptural text, that "man was 
made in the image of God," is I think in favour of this idea ; 
and it may perhaps add to our love of God, without at all dimi- 
nishing our reverence of him. And are we to attach no intel- 
ligible meaning to St. Paul's declaration, that " our bodies shall 
hereafter be made like unto Christ's glorious body?" Surely 
all man's "imaginings" are not "vain," or merely visionary. 
Whatever is entirely abstracted from them must verge at least 
upon impossibility : we should have some conception, however 
faint or remote, of what we are required to believe ; which in- 
deed seems to be indicated by our attempts at explanation. 
What hold can the mind have upon a perfectly incomprehensible 
and inconceivable idea ? Indeed in that case there can be no 
idea at all : To what then is the mind to affix itself? Can the 
feelings fill up such a void ? They too require some sympathy, 
and what sympathy can there be, where there is no analogy ? 
How can we address " our Father which is in Heaven?" 



(m) " Sounds divided by seven distinct intervals.'* 

Here again is an instance of the reach of human knowledge 
and the error of human judgment. Elevation producing acute 



115 

sounds, and depression deep ones, is agreeable enough to ana- 
logy ; but what elevation or depression can there be in infinite 
space, or what analogy between finite and infinite ? Connection 
seems to reign throughout ; but how far do its bounds extend ? 
As to the distinction of numbers, I believe there are few more 
puzzling objects than that. The "numerus impar" seems in- 
deed to prevail. 

(n) " This being imitated by skilful men, has opened to them," SfC. 

Talent then is the guide to heaven, independent of moral 
practice. Not so the Gospel. 

(o) " Two of these are habitable," Sfc. 

This is nearly a true description of the earth, except in the 
steps of the inhabitants of the southern temperate zone being 
" always turned from, and never towards" those of the northern ; 
and what is meant by this, seems difficult to conceive. If 
" those in a totally opposite direction" means the antipodes to 
us, it seems to imply a knowledge of the rotundity of the earth. 
It seems indeed difficult to explain what is meant by the frigid 
zones being immediately under the vault of the heavens ; per- 
haps it may allude to the astronomical representations of the 
ancients. 

(p) " Shall have marked," fyc. 

Does this mean the golden cycle of 25,000 years? How did 
the ocular observations of the ancients lead them to these con- 
clusions ? When Cicero speaks of the sun as a " single star," 
one would think that he concluded all the others to be fixed stars 
also, as we consider them. — Comets, of which Cicero makes no 
mention, have been supposed by some to be the replenishers of 
the solar heat, in this and perhaps other systems. If so, may it 
not be asked, from whence do Comets themselves derive their 
1% 



116 

heat ? For it cannot be supposed that the secret stores of ani- 
mated existence are made to last for ever ; if not, they must de r 
pend, as they surely do, on the will of God ; and that will, we 
are told is, that they shall all have an end. But that end, we 
are also told, is to be in self-consumption ; or rather, in the 
excess of the vivifying principle (" the elements shall melt with 
fervent heat," &c.) ; this then must be inexhaustible ; and the 
source of it must be in the Supreme Cause himself. 

(q) " As that eternal Being," 8fc. 

This may in some degree be sanctioned by the text which says 
that " God created man in his own image." But Cicero's love 
of glory and his attribution of it to human exploits, is not con- 
tent with referring all to one great and solely efficient Cause ; 
he makes the mind of man immortal of itself ; with a confused 
notion indeed of subordination, and an ultimate reference to one 
great Source, his " orbis extimus." 

(r) " That alone which moves itself can never cease to be moved." 

A self-moving substance may be immortal, and may derive its 
immortality from another source than what is inherent in its 
own nature : the power that confers the immortality can main- 
tain it ; as indeed the first gift of it supposes. Cicero dwells on 
this self-inherent power of motion, as a proof of immortality, 
which seems to show, that the ancients could not abstract their 
thoughts from sensible objects. Instead of referring all to one 
supreme and all-directing mind, they multiplied that mind, ad 
infinitum. But he still makes the subordinate degrees of it the 
gift of a higher power, from which therefore they must emanate, 
and on which they must depend ; one universal cause, acting 
every where, and seen no where, but in its effects, which unas- 
sisted reason, like Cicero's, is liable to err in its endeavours to 
account for. Indeed, he seems to have had no ideas of an im" 



117 

pelting power that is not visible to the senses ; but what would 
he say of the passions ? what of conscience ? Are these visibl e 
agents ? And does not Africanus's exhortation to his grandson,, 
" Hunc tu exerce," &c. imply that he had an impelling power 
over his mind ? Whence was that derived ? 

As to the attribution, not only of immortality, but even of 
divinity, to every thing that has the power of self-motion, Cicero 
may not have considered, that according to this, the minds of 
the brute creation must be equally immortal and divine. All 
this, as I have repeatedly said before, seems to be caused by a 
want of the proper attribution of all secondary effects or causes 
to one first and supreme Cause, from whence they flow. The 
laws of nature are the will of God. But the principle on which 
Cicero establishes the unlimited existence of the Supreme Being, 
seems to set limits to his power ; in dividing and multiplying 
that power. But what vain attempts are these, to reach an un- 
attainable source ! 

We may observe, that Cicero shows himself to be of the aca- 
demic school in putting his metaphysical ideas into the shape of 
a dream. His reasoning upon the nature of mind and motion, 
could hardly satisfy him. Being, like Horace, " Nullius ad- 
dictus jurare in verba magistri," he was left to the " tempestas" 
of his momentary feelings, and wanted a Revelation, to strengthen 
and confirm the voice of his reason. 

All the moral part of his beautiful effusion is as strictly true, 
as it is mortifying to human vanity. But not to be " satisfied 
with the praises of our fellow-mortals," points out a higher 
ambition l , and is in perfect conformity with the sacred text, 
which cautions us against preferring " the praises of men to the 
praise of God." And however exaggerated Cicero's ideas of 
human glory may appear, when viewed in other lights than he 
here regards it, there still will remain sufficient excitement to 
the active service of our country, connected with, and subser- 

1 And a belief of future rewards. 



118 

vient as it ought to be to, a regard for those higher duties, the 
fulfilment of which can alone give it any real merit or effect ; 
for no solid benefit can be conferred on mankind, unless it is 
sanctioned by an adherence to our moral and religious obliga- 
tions, with which even the most ardent pursuits of ambition, 
either in peace or war, may, and ought to be, made consistent. 
So shall the " praise of men" unite with the praise of God ; 
and human glory be crowned with everlasting rewards. Cicero 
may well contrast his " unius astri," or unius anni memoria, or 
even his " diuturna gloria," with the " aeterna," which he 
rightly places where alone (better understood as it is in the 
Christian system) an " eternal weight of glory" can be " worked 
out." And I believe it is necessary to make this contrast, to 
show the real littleness of all human glory, which neither Scipio's 
exploits, nor Horace's writings (though " Dignum laude virum 
musa vetat mori") can of themselves make eternal. Horace's 
" non omnis moriar" has hitherto been verified, certainly; but 
we must consider how small a part of Cicero's ' ' year" is passed, 
since both their deaths, and how much smaller (indeed com- 
paratively nothing) of eternity. All glory, but that in which 
St. Paul said he would only " glory" compared with that, must 
be vain glory. 

As to Cicero's " many ages" of Purgatory, that idea must be 
left to the vacillating opinions and imperfect belief (or at least 
comprehension) of the fearful and wavering Christian, to think 
of as the bias of the moment may incline him, in a matter on 
which the sacred writings throw no unclouded light. As the 
"Gentiles were to be judged by their own laws," so may we 
presume that we shall be judged according to our ability to profit 
by the information that has been given to us. In doing this, 
I think we should be careful not to set up, as the Unitarians do, 
our own notions of elevation of sentiment, &c. in opposition to 
that humble acquiescence in, and reasonable interpretation of, 
the sacred text, which is both required of, and appealed to, in 
the Christian believer. But the rational humility which that 



119 

implies, and much more the "broken and contrite heart," 
would have little charms for the high-minded Unitarian. Let 
him however beware how he trusts in his own " righteousness," 
or, as he perhaps would have it called, his moral dignity 1 . As 
little can we be justified in asserting those " new lights," which 
the examples of the present times, perhaps, above all preceding 
ones, show how soon, and how extravagantly they may be 
generated and fostered (whether for Ostentatious or self-deluding 
purposes) by those who abuse, instead of using their reason, as 
our Saviour exhorts them to do. In this censure it is hard to 
say, whether Sceptics or Enthusiasts are the most involved : 
sed humanum est errare. 

Will the Unitarian declare, that he has a settled opinion, that 
the nature of Christ was not in itself divine, but that he was 
exalted by the favour of God for his merits (as indeed some pas- 
sages of the New Testament import), and that God was no 
more his Father than He is ours, as Christ's own mention of 
Him ("my Father and your Father") also imports? What 
meaning then is to be attached to the passages, " I am in the 
Father, and the Father in me." — " He that hath seen me, hath 
seen the Father." — " Before Abraham was, I am," &c. ? — So 
indeed he might have said of us all, if our nature is to be put 
upon a level with His, and if a pre-existent state of human 
souls is to be admitted, we are " the images of God," or at 
least we were so before the fall. But was Christ no more? 
or was he "fashioned" by a better sculptor? Or was he only 
an archangel, and his nature afterwards raised still higher, for 
the purpose he was meant to answer ? If he came only to in- 

1 There may be " breathings of the soul" even in the midst of 
" business" (as is said in Dr. Channing's sermon, at New York) and 
they may be addressed to an Almighty and Merciful Being, but has the 
written word been duly attended to ? Have not previous impressions 
shut the ears or perverted the understanding against it ? I fear indeed 
the aspirations have rather an impure mixture. 






120 

struct us, what need was there of a person so commissioned? 
Solon, Lycurgus, Numa, &c. were not so constituted. If he 
came ouly as a Mediator, what need was there of his mediation ? 
Is the mercy of God so defective, or is His justice so " untem- 
pered" with it, that a creature must be exalted on purpose to 
fill up the defect, to give the inclination, or to justify God to 
Himself, to let Him know when and how far He might relax in 
the severity of His justice ? Can any one of the attributes of 
God be imperfect ? Can they want the sacrifice of a life, such 
as Christ's, to supply that imperfection, or to reconcile them to 
each other, because our finite understandings are unable to do 
it ? Can God be sensible of His own imperfection, which, 
makes these expedients necessary ? Had He no other way of 
satisfying His justice, but by requiring such an atonement, or 
if the Unitarian will, a mere sacrifice, to remedy the abuse made 
by man of the free agency given to him, or his ignorance in the 
use of it ? Was God obliged to make him a free agent, purposely 
that he might abuse the gift, and make the atonement (or sacri- 
fice, for one or the other it certainly was) necessary ? Did God 
foresee all this, without being able to prevent or otherwise re- 
medy it ; to supply the apparent (if they are to be granted as 
such) defects of the plan He had laid down ? or is the power, or 
are the attributes of God so limited ? Is there, after all, an evil 
principle that overrules or limits them ? Can God have any 
thing to regulate His nature, but what proceeds from that nature 
itself? And must man require an intelligence that he is not 
capable of, to justify his belief of mysteries, attested as they are, 
that are beyond his comprehension ? Has he been admitted, as 
is asked in Job, to the counsels of the Deity ? or is he more than 
His counsellor, is he His corrector ? — Had we not better at once 
acknowledge our ignorance, and its parity with our other im- 
perfections, and throw them all upon the wisdom, the power, 
and the mercy of our God ? If we err (and we must, in follow- 
ing our own suggestions), had it not better be on the safe side ? 
And can we have a better security from error, than in a reason- 



121 

able interpretation of the Scriptures ? I think neither can be 
attained, if we make " elevation of sentiment" (see Dr. Chan- 
ning's sermon) the test of our religious faith ; for this will ex- 
clude all the humility that our condition requires. Yet this is 
the meteor that such pastors as Dr. Channing would have us 
follow. O Pride ! what various shapes dost thou assume ! 

If we suppose that the statements of the New Testament are 
meant as trials of our feelings and our faith, we shall find no 
inconsistency in the different characters of God and man in 
which Christ is represented; for we are taught to consider him 
in both these lights. The appeal then is made to our reason 
and our feelings, and to the hardness or tenderness, the justness 
or perverseness of one or the other, for both ought surely to 
impel us to consider Christ in the highest light in which he can 
possibly be placed. The self-exaltation of our pride, or the self- 
abasement of our humility should both, I think, impel us in the 
same direction, if we take care that the suggestions of the one 
are properly directed, and that those of the other are sincere and 
reasonable. If we do this, I think neither will be likely to 
mislead us. 

- May I not refer to the " Night Thoughts," for further argu- 
ments against Unitarianism ? 






A deep sense of our unworthiness will be the best way of ar- 
riving at the consolations which the infinite goodness and mercy 
of God hold out to us ; but our confidence in that might trench 
upon his justice, were it not for the means that have been used 
to reconcile those properties, in the astonishing and incompre- 
hensible atonement that has been made. In vain shall we urge 
that we are the creatures of an Almighty Being whose power 
must have imparted, and whose wisdom foreseen, the qualities 
by which we are actuated. The consciousness of our free agency 
and consequent responsibility, and of that liability to sin, which 



122 

the best dispositions, unsanctioned by religion, cannot secure us 
from, must elude all the wiles of sophistry, all attributions to 
organization, &c. and must leave us at the mercy of that " atra 
comes," which "premit, sequiturque fugaces." Let us then 
shelter our ignorance under the information that we have re- 
ceived ; let us trust with humble confidence to that ; let us use 
our best efforts, with the assistance that has been promised us, 
to avail ourselves of the atonement that has been made ; let us 
" embrace and hold fast'' the hope it affords ; let us receive, 
rely upon it, and be thankful. 

Ought not the Unitarian to tremble, when he requires more 
evidence for truths which have all the evidence that our reason 
and our feelings qualify us to receive ? Ought he not to tremble 
when he only gratifies his own pride, in trusting to what he 
thinks his reason justifies ? His reason, which he makes almost 
as much a " goddess" of, as the French Revolutionists did. 



There is a confusion of ideas in the passage, (see page 94) 
"Nam terra, nona," which I think it is impossible to remove, 
but which sufficiently agrees with the rest of Cicero's system, 
and particularly with the passage at the end of Cap. 4. How a 
body can be at once " media et infima," is hard to conceive, 
nor is the difficulty lessened, as Cicero perhaps supposed it 
would, by the substitution of the words "• haeret" and " com- 
plexa;" why the earth is to be considered as "infima" seems 
also hard to conceive the necessity of ; but such were the notions 
of an unenlightened heathen, judging, as indeed the Jews also 
did, from the evidence of the senses, till Newton threw a clear 
light upon what Galileo had before had a glimpse, and perhaps 
more than a glimpse of. 



123 



ERRATA et DESIDERATA. 

Page 6. — Cicero might have made Cato express his thankfulness, if not 
for^the perfect satisfaction (which perhaps few can feel) that the recol- 
lection of a well-spent life gave him, at least for the sense of improving 
goodness, and consequent peace, which the tranquillizing effects of such 
an old age as his would daily increase in his mind, as he drew towards 
the end of life. This is the " peace" which this world affords ; at least 
the beginning of, a " beginning of wisdom," in " the fear of the Lord ;" 
a fear which the sense of a superior power, and of our obligations to it, 
cannot but impress us with. So far " saints, savages, and sages," join 
in one, however apparently modified and diversified, " adoration." 

I once heard it said, that Cicero was the only true patriot that ever 
lived. The reply might have been, — If one Cicero, why not others ? 
Timoleon, Epaminondas, Aristides, &c. &c. — They perhaps had not the 
same abilities, nor opportunities of displaying them, that Cicero had, 
This she (it was a lady of rank) might not have considered, for she was 
not one of " That owl-eyed race whom Virtue's lustre blinds." — She 
could bear to look at the sun, in Cicero. 

" Virtue" is no longer a mere " name," when it has been personified. 
But even Brutus, Cicero's friend and admirer, had it not in perfection ; 
and in fact, who has ? For real patriotism we must look higher. The 
world has had its " Citizen," in its Saviour and Redeemer — and 
" Truth" has had its Martyrs. 

Page 14, "the twentieth part" Does this mean " ab urbe condita?" 

Page 14, note, for " suits," read suit. 

Page 21, line 32, for "future," read future — with (?) 

" De Senectute," page 21, line 20, " Neque me vixisse pcenitet ;" &c. 

If the mind still preserves its vigour when the body has lost it, it is 
surely a proof that the former will survive the latter. Decay must be 
gradual, dissolution may be sudden and violent : the body has suffered 



124 

one, but the mind still remains unhurt and unaffected. If they were 
closely united, this would not be the case ; the suffering would be mutual 
in proportion to the closeness of their union. 

Page 23, line 18, " Cicero's supposition of," &c. 

One, and that not the least of the Mercies of Providence, is in enabling 
man to make the best of the " Consolations" he has, short as they may 
be of what Christianity has given. This the Heathens must have expe- 
rienced : even they had a glimmering hope of a future life. Christianity 
has brightened it into certainty. Cicero's philosophical conclusions are 
superseded by revelation, and even by ocular demonstration, in the 
resurrection of our blessed Saviour. We have, then, every evidence that 
the mind is capable of receiving, and only Mr. Hume's sophistical re- 
jection of " the want of previous probability," and perhaps Rousseau's 
strange assertion, that " the sight of a miracle would only have con- 
founded, not convinced him," to oppose to it. 

Page 24, line 7> " Dr. Butler has made," &c. 

A believing and reasonable mind will admit analogies, where an un- 
believing one sees only discrepancies, which may always be found, as 
Omne simile non est (or rather nullum simile est) " idem." Similitude 
cannot be identity, unless in imagination. 

Page 25, line 3, " Cato's arguments," &c. 

How little effect can such metaphysical " arguments" have had upon 
any mind ! And how strongly does this prove the necessity of faith ! 
Faith founded on Heaven. 

Page 29, line 17, " What a force too do the feelings of friendship," &c. 

How exclusively are the true enjoyments of life, confined to what is 
good ! and how necessarily are the mutual ties of friendship so confined ! 
How necessarily, to produce the " consensio" stated by Laelius ! How 
closely they are connected with our interest, little as that sometimes 
sways us, when obscured by our passion ! The Gospel universalises and 
immortalises it, as containing the " summum bonum," when the 
" amor humanus" is sanctified by the " amor divinus." One of these is, 
as far as it extends, made equal to the other, by which it is consum- 
mated ; and the friendship on earth becomes a friendship in heaven. 
What a man may find in a friend, he will find perhaps in his God. 
A friendship beyond all "calculation," and in which all "utility" will 
be found. But the earthly friendship must be with a " vir bonus," 



125 

whether the ipsi viri boni are capable of "loving their enemies," is 
hard to say. The perfection of that, at least, must be reserved for 
heaven, where all enmity will cease, 
Page 42, line 19, " Mortem sibi," &c. 

What! have said in "pro patria nee unus nee alteri," is surely true 
of all these three; for even "Brutus" might have better shown his 
patriotism, than by killing himself. Was not this rather pride ? " The 
madness of the heart?" I believe that neither his putting Caesar nor 
himself to death, can justly be defended. 

Page 43, line 25, for "medians," read mechants. 
Page 47, line 15, " Tyrannorum vita." 

Here we have the opposite picture drawn; to show that if men may 
assimilate themselves to angels, they may to devils too. The medium 
between these seems to be, as in my note on Page 29 (the mixture of 
"amor humanus et divinus,") the allay of human passions with the 
sublimer feelings, Laelius vainly attempts, as in page 57. (ubi istum 
invenias, qui honorem amici anteponat suo?" — which he seems to think 
ought to be done, to make friendship perfect) — to substitute romantic 
ones. He was aware of the capacity of " self-love," but supposes it 
extensible, even to their extinction. What will it then be capable of! 
Page 60, ljne 10, " The ingratitude of mankind," &c. 
Let us take care that our imputations of ingratitude do not revert 
upon ourselves. Unreasonable expectations provoke it, unworthy choices 
must meet with it, which it is not always easy either " discindere," or 
" dissuere." Unhappy as it is for us, when our " reforms" subject us 
to the charge of inconsistency. So, we may hope, will not our political 
ones, " expetenda" magis, quam vitanda. Quid expetere, quid vitare, 
is our business, both in public and private life ; and a mistake, either in 
the " expetere," or vitare, if owing to any thing but an error of the 
judgment, is a kind of "ingratitude," to the Giver of our faculties. In- 
gratitude which either our passions or our prejudices may excite in us. 
Page 64, line 3, " Ipse se quisque diligit," &c. 

Every man loves himself, because it is natural for him to do so. " The 
Almighty's first command is. " Man, love thyself." His second is, 
" Love thy neighbour as thyself." In both there is included the love of 
God, who made us for these purposes, and for the love of Him, our 
Maker, and of His Son, our Saviour and Redeemer. But we do not love 



126 

ourselves, without an expectation of a reward ; for the reward is in our 
own approbation, and that of the God within us. Thus every man is at 
once "alter et idem," whether the "alter" is "God, or Mammon." 
This Cicero was not aware of, though he must have felt the benefit of 
self-approbation, and the " reward" it confers, and might have seen the 
contrary, in the punishment of those who fixed their "love" upon im- 
proper objects. Then, " quisque amicus suus esse potest, et qualis ipse 
esse" desiderat ; aut inimicus, " qualis ipse esse" horret ; ita, aut 
felicitatis aut miserise suae quisque arbiter est ; " quaeque amico tribuit, 
haec" a seipso recipiet. These rewards or punishments are decreed to 
him by " the Author of Nature," who has required us to place our first 
love on Him, for whose sake we are to " love ourselves." That we may 
do so, " primum ipsos viros bonos esse" oportet. This is the highest 
"elevation" that "human nature is capable of." Thus will he be 
" the image of his Maker." 

Page 67, line 2, after " from others' harm" (a comma). 

Though they may blame them too severely, and perhaps even deny 
them the pity which they may still more want themselves. But they 
have not looked into their own " wallets." 

Same page, after " which the social feelings excite" (a semicolon). 

Except those which Religion affords. 

Page 69, line 14, for "the," read these. 

Page 69, line 19, "a looking up ad summum bonum," add, without 
any expectation of arriving at it. 

Page 70, note, for "notwithstanding," read, without which. 

Page 71, line 23, after " object in view" insert (!) 

To make our friends as bad as ourselves; our "fellow-rogues." 

Page 72, line 13, " pride" can " deserve" it, then, when properly 
regulated. 

Page 73, line 20, " nihil mali," but what was this, sine bono aliquo ? 
Where could be the "solatium?" In the "reditum in caelum patere" 
certainly. 

Page 74, line 2, strange "friendship!" that can give a friend, and 
probably enemies! Are these " altitudines ?" 

Page 74, line 20, after " the declarations of the Gospel" (a semicolon). 

Of the truth of which this reservation is surely an additional proof, 
accordant as it is with the " hope" previously given. 



127 

Page 74, line 25, The "justice and benevolence of the Creator," is 
only declared in the Gospel. 

Page 75, line 13, " A plurality of Gods," such as in the Heathen 
Mythology, could only produce rivalry and discord. Unity, therefore, 
is necessary ; the " unity" of the " Trinity." When men deified their 
fellow-mortals, they of course gave them human qualities : their Gods 
were the "images" of themselves, not themselves the "images" of a 
higher God. Their Mythology however was, perhaps, better ; more 
innocent if not more rational, when it was contained in the worship of 
wooden images, stocks, stones, vegetables, &c. These they could " burn" 
when they were tired of, or angry with them ; and sometimes they 
flogged them into a compliance with their wishes. Happy mortals, who 
had more power over their Gods than they had over themselves ! 

The Classic Mythology was no doubt more amusing, as more poetical, 
when described by Homer, Virgil, Horace, Ovid, &c. 

Page 76, line 10, after " conceived," place the mark ( x ) as a reference 
to the note below. 

Page 78, line 20, after " vice and depravity." 

Choose then, O Man, whether you will prefer a Religion founded in 
Reason and Virtue, or an infidelity founded in folly and perverseness, 
and subservient to vice ; whether you will prefer peace of mind, to the 
indulgence of your passions ; whether the delusive hope of "annihi- 
lation," and the certitude of future punishment, extreme, whether 
eternal or not, to the well-founded, or promised, hope of eternal hap- 
piness. 

Page 85, line 3, " legate" — perhaps the proper word should have been 
lieutenant. 

Page 85, line 9, " my grandson." — Viz. : Tiberius Gracchus, the Demo- 
crat of Rome, the advocate of the Agrarian law, the champion of equal 
rights, equal property, and equal privileges, (not of equal justice, which 
would then be done to none,) an attempt of which he became himself the 
victim (being killed by Scipio Nasica) as so many of his French imitators 
have lately been, and, for a while, the French Monarchy itself, and as 
would also be the case in England, if the mad theories of the " Radicals" 
were carried into practice. 

Page 85, line 16, for " will have completed," read, will then have 
completed. 

6 



128 

Page 85, line 26, mark 3 — This mark should rather have been placed 
at " gently smiling," for I hope that I shall not be suspected of imputing 
"sleepiness" to one of the first characters in the Roman History. Both 
he and Laelius, as well as Cato, deserved a Cicero, to perpetuate their 
memories, in making them the vehicles of his admirable discourses 
How concise, and how comprehensive, is his summary of Scipio's history 
prophetically delivered by the spirit of Africanus ! and how striking, 
especially to a young Roman, the moral exhortation that follows, sanc- 
tioned and crowned as it is by the sublime, though erroneous, meta- 
physical detail that concludes it. 

Cicero, in many of his works, is the friend of his country : in this, and 
others of his moral and philosophical treatises, he is the friend of man- 
kind. He is the father of the schools, and the model of writers, and his 
language, dead as it is, will be immortalized in them all. 

Page 91, Note. " That is, they appear to do so, as the latter are 
stationary." 

I should have added the diurnal revolution of the earth, which indeed 
is the real cause of the apparently retrograde motion of the planets 
incomparably slower as their actual motion is, than the revolution of the 
earth round its axis. The (apparent at least) stationary state of the 
stars must also be considered, though Cicero's theory does not suppose 
that. All this creates a deceptio visus that requires more explanation 
than can here be given to it, but which may be easily understood by an 
attention being given to our own motions, and the relative motions or 
stationariness of the bodies that we pass by. 

Page 94, line 12, " obsurduerunt." This should have been probably 
obsurduerint : as we can hardly suppose the fact to have happened. 
Page 101, line 8, "shall have marked," &c. 

This idea of the golden cycle may have been altogether hypothetical, 
as I do not find it mentioned in books of astronomy. 

I cannot help hoping, that those who peruse this volume, may be in- 
duced by it to peruse the " Extracts from Young's Night Thoughts," &c. 
I wish the nature of my work could have allowed the intelligence of it to 
be more universal and complete among its readers. They however may 
find, that Young and Cicero illustrate each other : the former gives the 
knowledge that the latter could not give, and gives it from that Power 
which only could communicate it, and which has addressed it to that 



129 

Reason, which it had prepared to receive it ; and by it it has been re- 
ceived, in accordance with its own dictates. 

Page 120, line 31, for "and its purity, with our other imperfections," 
read, its parity with our other imperfections. " Parity" here means 
equality. 

A Commentator ought so to understand and enter into the spirit of 
his Author, as to be able to play with him, but to play in a manner that 
will rather increase than lessen the force of his thoughts. Whether I 
have done this with Young's, I know not, or whether I have amused or 
edified my readers (if I have any, and his " thoughts" are certainly 
fitter for the latter) I know not — but they have both amused, and, I trust, 
edified me. He may be disliked by some, but surely will be more than 
liked by others. Is it difficult to say by which he is justly estimated ? 
As to Cicero, even the " Lorenzos" must admire him, as " Pagan tutors 
are their taste." But how can they come so near to Christianity, without 
being Christians ? 



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